


Say Something I'm Giving Up On You

by J3 (CaseMatthews)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alpha Castiel, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Gabriel, Dubious Consent, Forced Prostitution, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Mpreg, Not Incest!!, Omega Sam, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam and Dean aren't brothers!, Shy Sam, Torture, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseMatthews/pseuds/J3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long and tiring day at work (being one of the few decent alpha cops in the city is hard) Dean just wants to go home and sulk. But when he smells omega in heat and finds Sam on the side of the road, naked and terrified, Dean figures life isn't quite so simple...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've Got This Friend...

**Author's Note:**

> SAM AND DEAN ARE NOT BROTHERS! THIS IS NOT WINCEST!!!  
> Say Something - A Great Big World is the song for this fic.
> 
> Thanks for clicking, if you enjoy, please comment or supply tips, I would be immensely grateful!!
> 
> Anywho...enjoy!!

It’s been a long-ass day for Dean Winchester.

Being one of the few decent alpha cops in the whole of Houston can be a draining job at the best of times, _minus_ the knot headed assholes that still make it their lifetime mission to be the biggest dick that ever walked the earth the bigger dick—even with Dean in the uniform. Fucking morons.

This particular dude—fucking  _boy—_ had so much testosterone charging his stupid little veins he actually made to hit Dean. Even with his ugly son's of bitches cheerleaders whooping him on, he didn’t actually get close enough to Dean to do anything other than cower back when Dean growled a _don’t-fuck-with-me-tonight-kid_ growl, which totally had them scampering across the field like rabbits; but Dean had the main culprit by the collar and into the car before he had a chance to prove his ignorance. Didn’t mutter a word the entire ride to the station, which Dean had to it give to him as the smartest move he'd made all night.

He still made Dean late leaving, though.

Which is why Dean’s currently rapping four fingers on the top of his steering wheel with a little more vehemence than any calm man in his position would. He needs a shower. He needs a change of clothes. He needs anything that isn’t fucking _ignorance_ filling his nose right now from jack-ass number what-the-fuck-ever snivelling all over his civi clothes (like he has some fucking right to), once he'd been spied on his way out of the station. Dick. Fucking. Head. Dean hopes he gets put away for at least a decade with other alphas very much against the abuse the guy would be there for. Small windows. Little ventilation.

Dean sighs happily. _Good_.

Fifteen minutes away from home.

That’s all there is, fifteen minutes and Dean can have a shower, watch a little Dr Sexy and call Lisa for a good, late night phone sex sesh. Perfect.

But, of course, he’s Dean Winchester. When does he ever catch the kind of break he really fucking wants?

So, _of course_ , now's right about the time he smells it.

Omega.

In heat.

Out in the open like an idiot, and fucking _terrified_.

It’s practically an assault on Dean’s senses, pushing him back into the leather seat and shoving itself up his nostrils. Jesus Christ, smells good though. Even with the outright fear zipping through, it still smells freaking delicious. Better than he’s smelt in…a really long time.

Which, ultimately, is what makes him pull over on the side of the road, nestled in houses and the average smell of the average street Dean has driven down too many times and never stopped. Good enough excuse to now, he supposes.

If it was anything else, another street with bars and strings of alpha, Dean’d probably be too late. But so far, he can’t smell mass amounts of blood or alpha come or anything else that directs to rape or abuse, which Dean - probably naively - takes as a decent sign. Just horror, which most omegas would probably be feeling right about now if they were stuck out in the street during their heat. And, the responsible cop that Dean is, he climbs from his baby and goes in search of the stench.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time to pin it down.

Creepy alley, nestled between two white-picket-fence houses, lit only slightly by a flickering streetlamp on the opposite side of the street. It doesn’t surprise Dean in the slightest that by now, he smells alpha. And it’s not nice, helpful alpha - it’s aggressive, jeering alpha that he can now see waving and stumbling around a shivering mound on the oil stained floor.

Drunk then, awesome.

He takes off in a run, calling, “Hey! Back off, I’m a cop!” before he gets any one of their attention. It doesn’t necessarily have the desired effects though, and all three of them just turn slowly and narrow their swaying gazes in on him.

And just to top the day off…

“Fuck off, man, we got here first,” one of them slurs, swaying on his feet and stumbling slightly too close to the heap on the pavement, which shuffles itself even closer to the wall.

Dean arrives near them and slows, pushing his chest out and glaring, exuding all the pissed off alpha he's keeping pent up from the day. He smells it on himself, even, which is good. Hopefully these three assholes are stupid enough to pay attention.

“I said, back the _fuck_ off,” he growls, but only one of them actually listens and backs the fuck up, tripping clumsily on the flat concrete. The others move an inch, but only to sway in their drunken states.

“We don’t gotta listen to you, man, where’s your uniform, huh?” It’s slurred again and in Dean’s irritation he’s _really_ had enough.

He moves the bottom of his jacket to the side, revealing the hilt of his Glock 9mm which draws three, wide sets of eyes to his waistband. Dean smirks.

“Hey, if you’re not gonna listen to me…” he starts, reaching slowly for the gun.

Six legs splatter against the oil puddles on the floor, clumsy in an all-out sprint for the other side of the alley-way. Dean simply drops his jacket and grins, happy to get at least one satisfying result from the night.

It’s only when he breaths in and the metallic tang of fear assaults him again that he looks down to the bundle cowering in the puddles. He mentally chastises himself and instantly drops to his heels. It shuffles away.

Dean looks at it, really looks for the first time, and his heart pounds heavily in his chest. Jesus, it’s a freaking _kid_. No more than seventeen, Dean would say, floppy, matted, chestnut coloured hair obscuring his face where it’s tilted down towards his bare chest.

Yep. He’s naked.

 _Fuck_.

And the more Dean looks, clinically evaluating the expanse of pale skin, he notices the scars. Cuts still healing into scabs dot his legs and arms, ranging from round like cigarette burns to long thin things, maybe from wire or some other material to hold him in place. Dean almost balks. Beneath those, white, older lines mar his skin, lacing mostly around his wrists and ankles, but they stain the rest of his body, too. And he's skinny, unnaturally so, malnourished.

Dean backs up in hope of not freaking the kid out, and reigns in on anything too alpha emitting from his body. He holds out his hands in surrender.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, and even he knows how dumb a question that is. Sure, the kids doing fucking great.

The only reaction from the boy is a slight lift of his head, his shaggy hair still obscuring most of it, but Dean can at least meet his eyes. They’re narrowed and hazel, totally suspicious and terrified as they cling to Dean’s own. It makes Dean’s heart drop for the kid. He’s bewildered and scared and hurt because that’s definitely pain in those eyes, let alone the marks still on his skin. And he’s in heat, so he needs something to push through that with, a toy or something, get out of the street…

So Dean climbs to his feet and holds his hand out.

“Come on, I can’t leave you out here, kid,” he says, jerking his fingers as a _‘get moving’_. “I’m a cop, I can help you.” No reaction. Dean sighs and worries the hand not held to the boy over his face. “Look, you’re in heat, you can’t stay here. You’re lucky I came when I did, or those knot-heads would’ve…”

A fresh wave of fear hits Dean and he backtracks somewhat. Right, probably not the best thing to bring up. But he is not leaving some scarred up kid in the middle of an alpha stained alleyway in heat, fucking _naked_. He’s a cop for one thing and a decent human being for another.

“Please, man,” he tries, his voice softer than before. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I swear.”

It takes a few more seconds of suspicious staring on the boy’s part for another kind of reaction, before he slowly uncoils his limbs from around him and starts making his way up the wall. He shimmies slowly and after about one agonising minute he’s stood upright, still ignoring Dean’s outstretched hand but stood all the same. Dean smiles helpfully.

The boy looks about as comfortable as any teen-aged, heated omega in his position would, one trembling hand held awkwardly to cover his exposed crotch.

Dean stares for a second, taking in the boy’s languid limbs and marked flesh before an agitated huff pulls at his attention. He looks back to the kids pinched face, eyes narrowed at Dean’s obvious gawping. Dean just coughs, embarrassed, and shrugs out of his leather jacket, figuring anything is better than nothing at this point, and he hands it to the boy who stares for a second before meeting the jacket with one quivering hand and pulls it on slowly. It seriously drowns him, but luckily lowers to below his hips, covering his pelvis so the boy can have his hands free and pull the leather around him tightly.

Dean holds the hand still extended towards his car on the other side of the street and they both make their sluggish way over, Dean keeping with the limped gait the boy’s walking with.

They’re silent on the slow walk, but by the time they make it to the impala the kid’s gasping for breath as though he’d just sprinted all the way there. Dean looks at him and evaluates.

Okay, so he’s not good. He’s in pain, he’s still just as scared as when Dean first found him, despite Dean’s own efforts; he’s most definitely still in a suckish heat, though that’s pretty obvious, it doesn’t just disappear in a few minutes. And he smells like it’s been a long one, but he’s not near the end of it. Somewhere in the middle of the five days, Dean would narrow a guess.

He needs help, obviously, but probably not the kind of help Dean can supply. He seriously knows squat about omegas, he’d really given them up since high school, sticking to betas after that. And he’s about as knowledgeable on anything medical as SpongeBob, so for all he knows the boy could be dying.

It really leaves him one choice. The hospital. Cas is working late tonight, Dean knows, and Gabriel’s on shift in the ER. Dean can take the kid in round the back, avoid the stares and _‘oh, poor thing!’_ comments that both the omega and Dean can probably deal without. Hospital’s the best bet.

Dean opens the passenger door for the omega and waits for him to clamber in before shutting it gently and walking over to his own side. The kid stays plastered as far away from Dean as he can probably get on the seat without leaping from the window and running away. His hazel eyes stay pinned to Dean, peeking out from just above the jackets collar in an endearing gesture that has Dean softening to the boy, despite his baby being filled with his obvious feared out stench.

The car’s started and on its way before Dean speaks. “I’m gonna take you to a doctor, okay?”

And Dean nearly swerves the car from the force of the kid’s reaction.

_“Jesus!”_

A huge surge of horror cascades through the vehicle at the same time the kid scampers back over the leather seats, pressing himself impossibly close to the door and running his hands along the glass, an apparently desperate attempt to get out. Dean practically yells a, “Hey, hey, calm down, you’re okay, alright, you’re okay,” in an effort to stop the boy jumping out the 60mph car.

He ( _thankfully_ ) stops his frantic movements but freezes where his is, eyes wild and darting and his chest moving erratically with rugged breaths. Dean transfers his eyes from the kid to the road and back again as he catches his own breath and thinks it through calmly.

“You don’t wanna see a doctor?”

A scruffy shake of the head.

“You’re injured, I'm not sure I know how to deal with that,” Dean reasons. “I know the doctor, he’s a good guy. Omega activist, actually, he’ll probably kill me if I don’t get you help. He’s at the hospital, you’ll be safe there, alright? No one’s gunna hurt you, I promise.” The boy sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he apparently thinks it over. “Please let me help you.”

After a long second, a tiny, barely there nod of the head gives Dean everything he needs to know to breath normally again and give the kid a somewhat weak smile of support. People are scared of doctors, Dean gets that, but to that extent? What the hell has this kid been through to give him that sort of fear?

The hospital is closer to the station than Dean’s apartment building and they pull up into the parking lot in no time. He makes sure to park as close to the back as he can, and both of them leave the car - Dean watching the boy closely and the boy doing the same with Dean - and they walk in slow unison to the back door. Dean asks, “You good?” but the omega doesn’t respond.

There’s a beta at the desk who smiles at Dean as he walks over and he doesn’t recognise her, despite all his times back here at this kind of night. You get to know a lot of people in the police force, especially late at night on a Saturday at the back entrance to a hospital.

Dean leads the kid over and he pins her with a Winchester grin.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he says, leaning on the desk. “I was wondering if you could help me, my friend here’s having a really rough night, crappy heat, stomach pains, you know? He’s got a thing, doesn’t like to talk about it, I’m sure you understand. There’s a nurse working, Gabriel Novak? I was wondering if you could get him for me. If it’s not too much of a hassle, of course.”

Dean could get through with his badge, he’s sure, but this way is so much more fun and involves a lot less paperwork if he’s unlucky and the receptionist is on the ball. She’s apparently not because about five minutes of relentless flirting later, served with a giddy grin, Dean hears Gabriel’s voice calling from the empty corridor.

“Ava, this had better be…aw, Winchester.”

He waltzes round the corner in pale blue scrubs and a nametag on his pocket, looking utterly knackered but he perks slightly when his eyes widen to survey Dean, who smiles and waves goodbye to the girl at the desk, ensuring the boy’s by his side the whole way. He doesn’t need to worry. Dean’s adjusted to the fear exuding from him now, but he’s so close to Dean’s side that he can still smell him all too well. God knows what Gabriel’s thinking.

“Did you come to see me, Dean-o?” Gabe teases, punching Dean lightly on the arm. His well reigned in, suspicious eyes hover politely to the omega and he smiles encouragingly.

As irritating as the beta is, Dean has to give it to him that he’s damn good with people. He seems to know the situation and how to deal with it before Dean can get a word in edge-ways.

“What’s your name, kiddo?” Gabe asks the kid. Dean realises then that he never even asked. But when the kid just ducks his head and shuffles slightly closer to Dean’s side, he feels better about it. He also feels good that, apparently, the kid isn’t quite so terrified by _him_ anymore, and that the fear radiating from his body is probably just by their surroundings now, by the imminent visit to the doctor he's so scared of.

“Is Cas still on?” Dean asks, distracting attention from the trembling frame beside him.

Gabriel looks back to him.

“Yeah, I was just with him, he’s finishing up for the night.” He flits his eyes to the boy and back again. “Right, yeah, we’ll catch him before he leaves.”

Gabe leads them through the hospital, helpfully taking mostly the back corridors to avoid people. The few they do pass, thankfully, intentionally avoid eye contact and are mostly betas, though despite this, by the time the reach Cas’ clinic the boys practically pressed up against Dean side, he’s so goddamn close.

“So, you gonna explain this, or what?” Gabriel hisses in his ear. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, with Cas, I’m not saying it twice.”

They all lead into Cas’ office and Gabe tells them both to sit down, Dean and the kid on the chairs beside the desk and Gabe perches on the bed opposite. It’s been a while since Dean’s been in this room, the last time with a beta after some fight mix up and Dean had to ensure they didn’t run after Castiel checked them out. He’s never been in here without his uniform, though, and certainly never with a terrified, somewhat naked, teenage omega. In heat.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Dean asks, filling in the silence and trying desperately to distract himself from the boys smell. He’d ignored it slightly, probably distracted by his reigning fear, but the boy in heat beside him still smells really fucking good. And Dean’s inner alpha _aggressively_ agrees.

“I’m with Cas, what’s he gunna do, fire his own brother?”

At that, the office door opens and Cas stalks in. He’s tired, exuding it even, and his hairs poking up in odd places from a full day of pushing fingers through it. His blue eyes bolt upwards to the scene when he takes the smells in: _omega, terrified, heat_. Dean knows from recent experience that this particular stench is _really_ fucking hard to miss and both he and Cas pride themselves on their self-control; their careers depend on it. This smell kinda throws all that out the window, though.

“Oh,” is all that Cas says.

The kid shuffles even closer to Dean. His alpha surges with the idea that he’s protecting this omega, especially one in such a state to have to be in a doctor’s office. He wants to wrap an arm around him and smooth his hair, convince him everything is alright, that Dean’s here to protect him. He won’t because he’s not this guy’s mate, and if he did that in front of Gabe he would seriously never here the end of it. And he’s not some sucker that melts after one sniff of heated omega. He’ll control himself.

Really fucking hard to do that though when the kid mewls almost silently and shuffles in his seat. Another wave of arousal pierces the air, swiftly followed by embarrassment and fear and he coils his legs into himself, his breath coming out in short gasps. Dean wonders if that’s what a panic attack looks like, but the nurse and doctor aren’t reacting to it in that way, so he damps that fear down.

“Uh,” Cas says, pulling in his infamous composure. “Dean, would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

“I, uh…He was on the side of the road, I could smell him,” Dean explains, clenching one hand around the seat of his chair. He hopes he doesn’t smell quite as turned on as he is. “These alpha dicks were drooling all over him and I scared ‘em off. Fucking pussies. Anyway, yeah. He’s pretty beat up, just...take a look at him would ya?”

Cas just nods and goes to sit down in the swivel chair by the desk, beside the kid.

“Hello,” he greets. “My names Castiel - I’m not going to hurt you, I want to help you. I just need your co-operation, is that okay with you?”

No reaction, but by now Dean’s not really expecting one.

“Would you mind telling me your name?” Cas asks.

Dean nearly intervenes, explains that the kid isn’t really big on the talking front, and he’s about to open his mouth when a tiny, “Sam,” is whispered from shaking lips. Dean looks down at him, surprised.

“Alright, Sam, that’s good.” Castiel smiles calmly. “Now, can you take your jacket off and go to the bed? We can ask Dean and Gabriel to leave the room if you want.”

Sam blushes and releases another surge of apprehension, but shakily stands up, keeping his eyes on Dean. A fervent shake of the head has Dean beaming with pride and smiling reassuringly up where Sam stands above him. He doesn’t move to take the jacket off though.

“That’s okay, you can keep it on, Sam,” Cas intervenes, shooing Gabriel off the bed behind the boy. Gabe hops straight off and waits for Sam to go over and sit shyly on the edge before taking his old seat beside Dean. “So, Sam, how long have you been in heat?”

Sam’s eyes widen and a furious blush rises to his cheeks. His eyes start darting again and he’s silent. Cue wave of fear.

“You don’t know?” Castiel asks, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head curiously.

Sam gulps and answers a croaky, “A-a while.”

“Oh,” is all Castiel offers. Dean’s not particularly sure what that implies, but by the ashen look on his friends face and Gabriel aiming a sharp look to his brother, it appears the medical personnel understand perfectly. Because that's not annoying.

“What?” Dean asks the other alpha.

Cas ignores him. “Sam, how long have you been in this heat?”

Sam’s eyes are so far down, Dean’s pretty sure they’re trying to bury to China. He doesn’t even look up when he answers in a panicky voice. “I-I don’t know.”

“Hey, kiddo, look at me,” Gabriel says softly, and Sam has to comply if only for how kind Gabriel’s voice sounds. “You have no reason to be scared here, okay? Wherever you’ve been or whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t apply here. We wanna help you, that’s all. You don’t have to tell us what’s happened, not unless you want to, but you’re gonna need to help us out a little bit right now, okay?”

Sam waits a few seconds with his eyes on Gabriel before he nods, dismantling his shaggy hair until more falls in front of his eyes. He pushes it away with a slightly more steady hand.

“I…um,” Sam starts before sighing and slumping his shoulders. To Dean, he looks like he’s probably decided not to speak, that this is all too much and totally not worth it, but then he kicks one foot out and stares down to it. Dean’s confused but looks down toward it with the other two. He sees marks and still bloody cuts on the sole of his foot and wonders if that’s what everyone’s worried about - but then Cas reaches out a hand to the ankle instead. He eyes Sam for permission, and when Sam nods, he takes it softly in his hand.

His thumb pushes down on something Dean can’t quite see and a sharp, jolted draw of breath is taken by Sam. The same sense of arousal fills the room along with omega slick and Sam shakes himself out slightly, reddening again. He pulls his foot back. Dean nearly keels over.

It doesn’t take him long to figure out what it is, he’s slightly embarrassed that it took him this long in the first place. It’s a hormone implant. He’s seen them a few times in his career, every single time by either some fucked up omega dragged into the station by a worried beta or in a case file of an omega found in the streets, killed by their pimp. They’re used in the black market trade, whoring out omegas for sex and they’re hundreds of kinds of illegal. It boils Dean’s blood.

“Sam,” Dean starts, drawing Sam’s eyes. “Are you running from someone?”


	2. Simple Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Sorry for people who have been waiting (if anyone has) I've had shite loads of exams lately, it's killing me...
> 
> Please, please, please comment!! Add fuel!!!!

Sam freezes.

How the hell is he supposed to answer that?

_Oh, yeah, I’m running from this psycho that keeps me in heat and pimps me out to horny alphas because I’m one of his best and I don’t put up a fight anymore. Yeah, you know, no biggy._

Right. This guy is a cop, and his best buddies work in a hospital. They do the right thing, the thing that would be returning ‘lost property’ to its owner, like returning an underage omega to his legal guardian. Of course, there is no way in hell Sam is telling this Dean guy that he’s a fucking slut and bends over for any old alpha for a pat on the head from Azazel. Dean seems nice. He won’t go near Sam once he knows his dirty little secret. So Dean, in turn, won’t know what Azazel is doing is actually totally illegal, he’ll just think Sam got drunk or something stupid and naïve (like the little omega he is) and got lost in the big city, on his own, and unluckily went into heat. He’ll be doing Sam a favour by returning him to Azazel.

Jesus Christ, Sam doesn’t know what to do.

His head feels like acid’s lacing through it, fuzzing everything as he continues in his never ending, _fucking_ heat. And he’s fucking _horny_. He hasn’t touched himself or let others touch him since he ran two days ago and he’s really starting to feel it. The slick between his legs is growing really uncomfortable and the air of _two_ alphas in the cramped room isn’t really helping him. And Dean smells so good…and Castiel had touched that implant in his ankle. That fucking sucked. Jesus, a hotwire of hormones zipped through him so fast he thought he might keel over from it, another layer of slick forming at his ass, his heart pounding as the wave quelled. He needs out of this heat, or something to help him through it because Sam doesn’t think he’ll be able to function for much longer in his current, horny as all hell, state. And Dean smells the equivalent to a rack of BBQ pork ribs on a platter with a side of fries and coleslaw…

Sam realises he’s glazed out of the situation when Dean stands from his seat and moves towards him. Sam shuffles back and away; away from the scent, from the question, from the _alpha_. He tilts his head, letting hair fall into his eyes, and looks up at Dean from beneath soft lashes.

“Jesus,” the alpha hisses, lifting one hand to his face and running it over his nose, the same way he did about thirty minutes earlier, back when he found Sam in the alley. Sam must smell good to him, too. He smells good to all of them. “So you’re running?”

Sam doesn’t dare answer.

“Sam…” Dean starts, looking subtly for support from the other alpha and beta, who all look to him in return, matching looks of curiosity and skepticism marring their faces. “I’m a cop, Sam," he says for the third time. He must think it means something for Sam... "I can help you, get you home or something, whatever you need, okay?”

Sam just slowly shakes his head in a resigned fashion. He knows now, Dean just concluded it; he’ll either be back on the street, if he’s lucky, or Dean will take him back to Azazel and he’ll die in his cage from either malnutrition or internal bleeding. At least on the street he has a chance of survival, however slim it might be. And then running wouldn’t have been such a fucking waste of time and precious energy.

“You don’t want to go home?” Dean asks, picking at straws.

“Don’t have a…” Sam has to clear his throat and suck in another breath. He hasn’t spoken this much in a very long time and every word that escapes his mouth, he feels like he’s going to get beaten for disobedience. “I don’t have a home.”

“Oh,” Dean finishes, sitting back in his chair a safer distance away. He runs his hands up and over his head, seemingly sieving through options in his mind as he decides what to do and where to go. Sam already knows, though. He’s a cop. Sam belongs to Azazel. He’d be doing the _right thing_ sending him back there. “Where did you come from then?”

Sam whips his gaze away, back to the floor. This is it, he’ll be forced to spill and he’ll be back at Azazel’s by morning, dead in twenty-four hours after he’s starved even further and beaten until he can’t move. He was out, he was alive and free, and now this stupid cop is gonna ruin all of that, he’s going to kill Sam, someone of the _law_ is going to get Sam killed…

“Woah, woah,” the beta says, lifting defensive hands to Sam. “Easy there, buddy, you’re okay.”

Sam realises after a second just how close he is to a full out panic attack, how much he’s pressed himself back against the wall and his legs are pulled so tight to his torso. He feels sick. _He can’t go back_. But freaking out here is stupid and reckless, so he forces himself to breathe through it, avoiding any gaze from anyone in the room as he clutches in desperation to his trembling knees. Fuck, he’s so screwed.

“Uh…” Dean hastily interrupts, and Sam would _imagine_ he looks quite frantic and unsure -at least according to his huffed out voice - because Sam hasn’t actually lifted his eyes and he doesn’t exactly intend to. The squeak of plastic fabric and boots on vinyl flooring indicates Dean’s risen from his seat and stands nearer to Sam. He’s not far away when he says, “We, uh, we won’t send you back there, okay?” He sounds unsure, his voice shifting. Sam curls in tighter. “You don’t have to go back, wherever you came from. I’ll…Shit, I dunno.” Sam peeks a quick, reluctant look at the alpha then, timid and avoiding eye contact and the man’s watching him from weird (concerned?), thoughtful eyes before Sam has to look away again. “I mean I could set you up in the system, but that’s kinda…fucked up. And they’ll just send you back to your legal guardian, and I’m guessing you don’t want that?” Before Sam can help himself, he shakes his head in aggressive agreement. “Right. Well, I’m lost. Cas?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows and draws in a full breath, lifting himself into sitting up straight when Sam lifts his eyes to look at him. He glances back at him.

“He isn’t in good shape, Dean,” Castiel says, and Sam gets the distinct feeling the comment isn’t for Sam’s benefit. Well, it would be pointless if it was, Sam knows the exact shape he’s in. “We can’t send him into the system, you of all people understand…” The way he speaks, it’s as though he isn’t really addressing the other alpha now, either, just reassuring himself of a choice he hasn’t really made yet. He turns abruptly to Sam, “How old are you, Sam?”

Sam gulps and freezes again. He shrugs. He’s not sure, honestly. He hasn’t the slightest idea exactly how long he’s been with Azazel, other than the basis of _years_ , and he’s pretty sure he’s late teens, somewhere around there. He was, what, thirteen when he left the home? Yeah, he’d be about seventeen, hopefully. “I…I’m not sure.”

“Oh…that’s okay,” Castiel says slowly, his brow lowered. His face turns almost sour when he says, “He’s _not_ going back, Dean. He’ll have to stay with you, at least until he reaches eighteen or you think of a better option.”

Dean gapes at the alpha and Sam looks down, abashed again. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought of that as an option, Dean seemed…not interested, or at least not to that extent or purpose. Sam didn’t really like the idea of serving Dean like he was so required to with Azazel. Dean seemed different. Obviously, Sam was wrong.

He licks his lips before asking quietly, “What date is it, please?”

The beta answers first.

“Eighteenth of April, kiddo.”

“What, uh, what year?” The words are barely audible when they leave his lips.

“Twenty-fourteen,” he replies, his brow knotted before he notices Sam’s timid gaze and rights it, replacing the harsh expression with a small, sympathetic - but strangely not pitying - smile.

So he’s sixteen…Jeese. Shame. If he were eighteen, he could have had more of a chance to leave both the hospital and Azazel’s, and though that would mean a hell of a lot more running he would be free, both legally and physically. He hadn’t even thought about being over the age of consent. Dammit. Eighteen would have been really fucking good.  
“I’m sixteen,” he supplies, sighing out his irritation.

“Aah,” the beta says, looking between the two alphas. “Well, looks like you’ve got yourself a new housemate, Dean-o.”

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Dean says, back-handing his arm stiffly.

Sam’s breath catches in his throat and he moves back to the wall again. He didn’t want this, he doesn’t want Dean like that, he can’t be owned, not again - Dean’s an alpha, all alphas want the same, whether Dean’s nice to his face or not. Azazel was nice to his face. Look how that turned out.

“I, uh,” Sam starts, not really sure where he’s going. He sucks in a breath. “Just, um, I’ll just stay where I was. Please, you don’t…”

Dean scoffs and looks at Sam like he just told them all the sky was a nice shade of green. Sam looks away, admonished.

“Not in a million years, dude,” Dean says, waving a hand at Sam before slumping back into the chair beside Gabriel and running the same limb over his face. He huffs out a long breath before saying, “Yeah, I got room. And you can’t stay on the streets, that’s fucking suicide. So, yeah, right, you can stay with me for as long as you need.” Apparently the decisions been firmly made because then Dean turns to Castiel and demands, “So you gonna get that crap outta his leg, or what?”

A scowl is spared for Dean before Castiel turns to Sam with a bitter sweet, sympathetic smile. “We can get it out, Sam.”

The best news Sam’s heard all decade. He can’t remember the last time he wasn’t in the same, stifling, murderous heat, holed up in his cage with nothing but his fingers or being pawned upstairs in a bedroom with a single-minded alpha that every now and then let Sam come. Relieving the pressure for a few short minutes was nice but being relieved full time was even better. He can’t remember that sensation anymore. Three years. It’s been a while.

All three men are looking at him when he glances back up so he offers a quick, “Thanks,” before ducking his head again. There’s bustle around him, he can feel the air move and the sound of plastic tearing or shoes on the plastic flooring, someone tapping a pen on the table top. Sam just curls further up and hopes they don’t have to cut into him to extract the thing.

When Gabriel shifts a stool to sit beside the bed, to Sam’s left, Sam figures he isn’t that lucky. Castiel rolls over in his chair with a scalpel, syringe and some other crap that Sam doesn’t recognise but it looks scary enough to have him pushed even further up the bed, plastering himself against the wall even harder. He huffs each breath from his lungs by force, harsh and painful. He tries for less panic, for anything other than totally freaking out but it’s seriously hard when he knows he’s moments away from being carved at by a total stranger, no matter the man’s claims as a doctor. _Doctor_ meant nothing anymore, not after Sam laid down for so freaking many back at Azazel’s. _“Don’t worry baby, I’m a doctor”, I’m just gonna rape you_. Right.

“Hey, Sam?” Castiel’s voice is far away, echoing towards Sam’s ears from a megaphone on the other side of a field. He blinks up blearily, meeting Castiel’s warm, azure eyes. “We’ll use anaesthetic. It’s only a minor procedure, so you won’t require sedation, which is good. It won’t hurt with anaesthesia, but we will be quick, alright?”

Sam nods because he’s not sure there’s anything else he can do. Castiel nods back, smiles and passes Gabriel a handful of carefully wrapped equipment, the syringe and scalpel the only ones Sam has a mind to recognise and name. He doesn’t want to see this, he decides, and hides his face deep in Dean’s jacket, his alpha scent overpowering anything else and Sam focuses on it with all his might. He’s happy Dean’s smell isn’t a bad one.

He feels the prick of pain from the needle, flinches slightly at Castiel’s hand on his skin but after a minute, there’s nothing. No pain, no sensation. Sam looks down at his leg and sees Castiel’s hand, still resting at his ankle. He frowns.

“You can’t feel it?” Castiel asks, his nail whitening where he applies more pressure. Nothing. Sam shakes his head, slightly bewildered. “Good, that’s good, Sam. I’ll make the incision now, alright? If you don’t want to look…” Sam dives his head back into the leather and focuses on breathing.

There’s pressure, clear down on his ankle but that’s it. No awful pop as his skin breaks open, no agonising pain. Just pressure. Okay, Sam can deal with pressure. He waits with baited breath for a few more seconds, just testing the waters in case Castiel hadn’t actually started the procedure, but no. The same sensation as before.

“Hey, kiddo, you know, breathing helps,” Gabriel says, a smile in his voice and Sam takes in an obvious breath for proof. He doesn’t lift his eyes though, not for the dreaded chance he could catch a glimpse of his own blood or flesh. “Good.”

“And…there we go,” Castiel says, the sound of something solid hitting metal rings out and Sam freezes for a second, waiting for Castiel’s guarantee. “It’s out, Sam, you’re doing well. We’ll just stitch you up and bandage it, and you can be on your way. How are you feeling?”

“M’fine,” Sam mumbles softly into Dean’s leather jacket, never even opening his eyes for a second. He waits patiently with his head deep in the warm alpha scent as more shuffling sounds, fingers on plastic and fabric moving along fabric as Castiel or Gabriel prepare the suture stitches.

“Hey, Cas, how long?” Dean asks, his voice far away, sounding from across the room. Too far, Sam thinks, but doesn’t say anything. He _isn’t_ naïve, for god’s sake, he knows very well how ignorant trust inevitably is.

“A few minutes, Dean, why?” Castiel answers, irritation evident in the gravelly reply.

“No reason, no reason.”

There’s silence again, aside from the now usual sound of movement, and Sam fights alone inside his head against the heat and situation and memories he really doesn’t need resurfacing. But then the idea of them being memories, nothing more, is actually slightly wonderful and he breathes one long, blissfully ignorant breath from his lips and feels muscles relax against the heats tight clutches. A few minutes later and a hand on Sam’s shin pulls him back to reality, grounds him from his soaring thoughts and he glances quickly up, just enough to see Castiel picking of his rubber gloves and smiling warmly at him.

“There you go, Sam,” he says, taking his hand from Sam’s leg to stand up. “You did well. Gabriel will bandage the wound,” he turns to Dean, “Can I see you outside?”  
Dean looks away from Sam’s ankle and the crease between his eyebrows straightens out when he lands on Castiel. He nods and they both leave the room.

“How you holding up, kiddo?” Gabriel asks, drawing back Sam’s attention to where he still resides on the stool, balancing gauze and tape and other white material on his lap. Sam just shrugs and fights everything in his mind telling him to look down at his pulsing leg. He does not want to see that. “You’re a strong one, I’ll give you that.”

It’s said absently, as Gabriel unwinds the fabric and his fingers gentle find Sam’s skin, wrapping the sore flesh in bandage. But, surprisingly, it means more to Sam than he was ever sure it could.


	3. Don't You (Forget About Me)

“What are you going to do?”

Dean just rolls his eyes at Cas, pinning him with an incredulous look.

“Oh, let my just consult my manual for finding beat up omegas on the side of the road, shall I? Great, thanks, Sherlock.”

His friend moves to peel of the latex gloves with an air of superciliousness that riles Dean up more than it maybe should, and he slams his arms crossed against his chest in childish defense. Castiel doesn’t even look at him when he says, “You are a police officer, Dean. If anyone knows how to deal with this situation, it should be you.”

A nurse passes them then, an obvious waft of beta flitting their way from the flick of her hair and she smiles as she moves on. Dean doesn’t even register her, the stench of Sam still making itself known deep in his nostrils. A few hours ago, he’d be chasing after her like a dog with it's tail between it's legs, his totally raging knot leading the way. Now, though, even the thought of leaving Sam in _that_ room on _that_ gurney with _his_ leather jacket wrapping his teenage shoulders makes him want to puke.

Dean waits for the slightly despondent intruder to fuck off before turning back to Castiel with a whispered, pissy tone.

“Like I said in there, the system’s screwed to hell. If he’s owned, they’ll send him back without two shits given and I know you saw those scars, you really wanna let that happen?”  
Castiel finally looks up.

“Keeping him away from his guardian is against the law.” Dean’s milliseconds away from a snappy retort, but Castiel’s freshly uncovered hand rises and halts him. “You will be breaking the law by keeping him in your apartment without permission or approval from the state. I hope you understand that.”

“I know the law, Cas, thanks.”

“And as long as no one finds out, you don’t have a choice. At least until he turns eighteen or we can come up with a better option.”

Dean knows that, he’s come to terms with that, even started planning things out in his head. Doesn’t stop him from saying an accusatory,

“Why the hell can’t he stay with you?”

“Gabriel and I don’t have room, Dean, you know that. The boy would be more comfortable with you anyway after--”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I get it.” He turns away with fingers in his hair. He does get it. And right now, he feels totally responsible for this weird kid, complete stranger or not. He can stay in the spare room and borrow Dean’s clothes until they have the chance to get him some new ones, and he can watch superhero movies with him until…

“You’re a good man, Dean.”

Dean watches Castiel turn and re-enter the room with wide eyes and a stupidly swelling heart. Huh. Yeah, he is, isn’t he?

“How are you doing, Sam?” Castiel asks, when Dean’s safely in the room and the door's shut securely behind him. Dean sits back in his chair.

“Fine,” the boy mutters, backed up against the wall again, Gabriel shoving random things into bins on the other side of the room. He adds a hesitant, “Thank you,” as a whispered afterthought.

“It’s not a problem, Sam, I’m glad we could help,” Castiel says.

Dean’s suddenly really fucking glad he has friends like these two, idiots or not. He’s pretty sure not everyone would be so cool with him trailing some kid omega, naked from the streets, into their workplace. Then again, taking him to a mechanics would be totally weird, no matter how awesome Bobby might be. He smiles at his own reasoning and runs a hand over the back of his neck.

“So, what happens now?” he asks, looking from Castiel to Gabriel and back down at the boy again. Sam doesn’t even spare him a glance. Dean wonders when the hormone implant might stop doing its job, because seriously, the dude’s stench still swamps the place. And fuck, it still smells just as damn good.

“If it’s okay with Sam, I think it might be safer to do some tests, just basic though, nothing to worry about,” Castiel smiles at Sam.

“Okay, cool,” Dean sighs. He claps his hands together and the noise echoes in the small, white room, bouncing off the walls and even Gabriel jumps. Sam all but bolts as far from Dean as he physically can on the gurney, shoving himself into an even smaller ball on the tissue covered plastic. He burrows his head with a resilient, if not slightly late, yelp.

“Uh,” Dean says, meeting the two despairing gazes with an awkward, forced wide grin. “Sorry.”

Sam doesn’t look up and since their first entering the room, Dean can smell fear. It’s cold and suffocating, echoing the room in harsh vibes and strangling the other scents; the slick, the alphas, the cool beta, the medical body wash. It’s a tiptoe away from painful, and it’s physical. Dean recoils.

“Fuck,” he says, covering his nose. He watches and sees the exact second Sam starts to tremble. “Dammit, kid.”

“Moron,” Gabriel hisses, rolling his eyes at Dean.

“Shut the fuck up, Gabriel,” Dean growls lowly, quietly, as not to scare the kid. He moves silently forward. “Sam?” No reaction. He tries again. “Sammy? Kiddo, you okay?” He moves to the bed, sparing the two brothers a tentative _well, I dunno_ glance and receiving one eye roll and one grim blink before softly sitting down. “Sam?”

The boy gasps audibly, heaving in racking breaths as he tries to breath, tries to keep himself placated and sane, but the smell doesn’t lessen. If anything, it grows. _Shit_ , Dean thinks.

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, and damn, if Dean’s heart doesn’t explode right out of his ribcage and swaddle the kid with blankets and hot coco. He has to convince everything inside himself not to reach out a hand and stroke Sam.

“Why are you sorry, Sam?”

Castiel. Dean should have asked. He should be aware of the kid’s unhinged behaviour, should know what to do with it before Castiel, of all people, does, because he’s not _his_ mate. _Jeese, Dean,_ you’re _not his mate._

“I…You, uh,” two hazel eyes blink up from the line of raggedy hazel hair, unfocused and damp. It fucking _hurts_ Dean. “Please,” he whispers, blinking slowly up at the three men, gaze sluggishly turning from Dean to Cas to Gabe and back again. But he's looking at Dean when he says, “Please don’t send me back. I can’t go back. Please. I-I’ll do anything, I swear.” The words enter the air choppily, as if the kid has to force himself to utter them. He gulps and lets his fan-feather eyelashes drop to his blushed cheeks before he says one final, “Please.”

Dean looks up at Castiel and Castiel looks back. The doctor shrugs. Dammit.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean tries, and his hand actually lifts this time, floats towards the trembling, underused muscle of one shoulder before he thinks better of it and reigns it in. He sighs. “Can you look at me for a second?”

Those eyes move up like clockwork.

Dean smiles. “There you go. I want you to listen to me, okay? We’re not sending you anywhere you don’t wanna go, I swear to you. Now, I’m offering you a place to stay, it’s safe, you don’t have to do anything you’re not one hundred percent comfortable with, alright? You can stay at my place as long as you need, I gotta spare room with your name on it, ‘kay, champ?”

Sam doesn’t say anything, so Dean sighs.

“I don’t wanna pressure you, but I kinda need your say so here, kiddo.”

For a few long, tense seconds, Dean’s pretty sure his mouth will stay shut still. But then Sam blinks a few times, shuffles the death grip on his legs to something looser, flicks his gaze around the bodies occupying the room, and whispers, “Thank you.”

Dean all out beams.

“That wasn’t so bad, right?”

Sam doesn’t answer, but really Dean wasn’t expecting him to. The fear softly dissipates into something suspiciously akin to humiliation, but no-one mentions it and Dean goes over to reoccupy his chair by the desk. Sam uncoils when Castiel asks him to, they commence with the promised tests, waves of fear more similar to soft tendrils enter the air, but nothing close to the tsunami.

It doesn’t take long, and when Castiel finishes with the heart rate monitor he pats Sam’s thigh and smiles.

“I think we’re done for the night,” he says, smiling kindly when Sam shifts his head. “You can go home with Dean, eat a proper meal, get some real clothes and go to bed. Gabriel or I will be around within the next few days to check on your condition and relay any test results, but I shouldn’t worry. Everything seems perfect.”

Dean doesn’t know whether the rush that consumes him is relief or nausea, but he grins at Sam anyway and stands up to leave.

“Come on, kiddo, we can grab a burger on the way back,” he says. It’s a treat for himself really, so he’s actually kind of excited. Sam appears slightly more doubtful, and the way he slithers off the bed towards Dean reminds him of a misbehaved child being sent home from the principal’s office. He still clutches at Dean’s leather jacket and buries his nose in the collar, so Dean feels slightly less molester-like for that. About an hour ago he was popping a knot at a sweet smelling omega. A sweet smelling, recently abused, sixteen year old omega.

Dean’s going to hell.

Dean stands back and holds the door open for said sugar-coated omega.

“Thanks, by the way,” he says to the two idiots. “I owe you one.”

The reply comes in the form of both,

“Damn straight, dumbass,”

and,

“You did the right thing,”

so Dean leaves with a small smile and a raised birdy. He looks down at Sam, once they’re safely in the corridor.

“You ready?”

Sam peaks up and blinks those owlish, darkened eyes.

“For what?” he asks, shuffling even deeper into the leather coat.

“To go get food?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes. What else would he mean? But Sam doesn’t answer outside of ducking his head again, so Dean just sighs the thought away and leads them both back to the doors they came in, past the flirty receptionist. Dean salutes her giddy wave, but otherwise doesn’t greet her. He’s too busy worrying about Sam getting to the car, and how badly his feet are bashed up without shoes on, and if the coat is fairing to keep even the slightest of chills out…

Right, Dean’s either acting like a worried mother or a seriously overprotective mate. And he’s neither. So shut the fuck up, dude.

They get in the car and resume their places from before, nestled to the door and comfortable-yet-terrified behind the wheel. Dean all but speeds to the McDonald’s, barely a mile away, but the drive feels more like light-years, the air thick with apprehension and a base underlying of fear.

When the worker at the drive-thru asks him what they want, Dean looks over to Sam.

He blinks.

“Hey, what d’you want?” Dean asks, smiling reassuringly.

“Uh…a burger?” he says, not meeting Dean’s eyes for even a second.

Dean snorts. “Great, thanks Kojak. Anything specific?”

But Sam just shrugs, so Dean orders for them both; two Big Macs, and two strawberry milkshakes, large. He says a thank you when they pick up their orders, passes one bag to Sam and nestles the other between his legs to dig in when they can park somewhere along the way home.

“Tuck in, kiddo,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the road.

He watches Sam from the corner of his eye, picking open the bag dazedly and nudging at its contents. He picks up a few fries, one at a time, and places them carefully between his lips, chewing them thoughtfully and on each one, he decides it’s okay, and goes in for another.

“They’re not poisoned, Sam, you can eat more than the fries,” Dean chuckles, absently deciding they might as well just head home and he can eat there. But when Sam smells tense again, when he ducks his head to his chest, Dean realises that was probably what he was checking for. Jeese, Dean’s an idiot.

“Thank you,” Sam says, almost too quietly to hear. Dean beams like mother hen.

“My pleasure, dude.”

When they pull up inside Dean’s building, he gets out first and jogs round to Sam’s side to open his door and take the McDonald’s bag for him. They trail inside and head to the elevator, and once the doors close and it takes off towards his loft apartment, Dean wonders what this’ll look like to his nosy-ass neighbours. Not that he gives a shit, but those assholes will find anything to complain about, and a practically naked omega with scars reeking of fear will give them fuel for the whole year.

The reach his floor not a moment too soon, the tenseness almost suffocating in the tiny metal capsule.

“C-can I, uh…” Sam starts once Dean has locked his apartment door, hiding his eyes in the jacket, cheeks tinging pink.

“Go on, Sam.”

“Um…I was just wondering if it would be okay…if I could sleep now? Please.”

Dean looks at him with wide eyes until he grins and nods wholeheartedly.

“Yeah, jeese, of course you can,” he says, already leading to the guest bedroom. Sam follows at his heels. “I think everything you need should already be in there, if you scoot around, you should be able to find a change of clothes, so grab whatever the hell you want.”

Sam nods.

“Hey, uh, about the heat? I think I could find a toy somewhere, if you still need one, or…”

“No,” Sam says, blinking and avoiding again. “I-I think it’s going now, anyway. Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Dean hovers in the doorway anyway, watching Sam stand awkwardly in the centre of the carpet. “You got a shower, clothes and, oh,” Dean hands him the MacDonald’s bag back, “and food. Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning, kiddo. Sleep tight, man.”

“Good night, Dean.”


	4. A Whole New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr: http://one-life-should-be-enough.tumblr.com/

“Get the fuck up, bitch.”

Sam hears the voice and acknowledges it, but he doesn’t move. He can’t. His limbs stay exactly where they are, limp and used on the filthy, threadbare blanket, arranged in the exact position he passed out in last night. He should probably be worried. He can’t feel his fingers or his toes and the knee that should be hurting like no tomorrow is placid and…well, Sam can’t feel it. He probably should.

“I _said_ ,” the voice comes again, louder this time, closer. Sam blinks his eyes open, heavy as they are, and looks up at guard-guy number two (the one with the weird blonde hair-cut). Huh. Sam hasn’t seen him around here for a while. “Get. The fuck. Up. _Bitch_.”

There’s a foot in his side and Sam feels that, the jolt of pressure-but-not-pain lifting his ribcage from the floor and dropping him heavily again, but he doesn’t respond.

He tries to say, “I can’t,” but all that comes out is a slurred, “ _iicaa_.”

“Shit,” blonde-guy says, kneeling down until his rotten face is too close to Sam. “Billy, get in here.”

Sam hears scuffling and boots until ‘Billy’ pops his head round the cell wall and narrows a look in.

“What?” he says. He sounds Texan. Figures, name like Billy.

“He ain’t getting up,” the other one says, the one with his hands roaming Sam’s neck and his knee randomly nudging up Sam’s crotch. That should probably hurt too, but Sam doesn’t really feel it. He just blinks slowly and admires the paintwork on the ceiling, splattered with come and blood…how the hell did that even get up there?

“Well, make him,” Billy says, entering the room and kicking a foot at Sam’s numb calf.

“No, there’s something wrong, man, he never acts like this,” blondie says, stroking a callused hand down Sam’s clavicle. “Something’s real wrong.”

 _No shit_ , Sam thinks, moaning out a string of sounds even he doesn’t understand, shifting his head away from the hand. If he thinks Sam’s giving him a blowjob, he’s got another thing coming.

“Hey,” Billy says, stomping closer. He kicks Sam’s thigh. “ _Hey_. Slut, yeah you, you little bitch. Get up, I ain’t askin’ you again.”

Maybe Louisiana or Georgia. Definitely a southern state, the twang is crazy strong.

“It ain’t working, man, he’s sick.” The same hand moves to Sam’s forehead and stops there. “Jesus. He’s running a fever, _fuck_. He’s real sick.” The hand leaves and wipes itself on the blanket beneath Sam. So he’s sweating then. Figures. He can’t feel it.

“Crap. Azazel’s gonna go ape-shit.” Billy moves away and threads his hands through his red hair, curled and damp from his own sweating. He’s not very attractive, Sam thinks, not that he generally finds betas attractive anyway, but he can at least appreciate looks. “Fucking Lucifer, I swear. He can fucking pay compensation if this all goes south and the whore dies. I ain’t taking the blame, I tell you that now.”

“What aren’t you taking the blame for?”

Sam could recognise that voice anywhere and the second it sounds, he snaps his eyes over to Azazel in the doorway. The alpha saunters in and looks down at Sam, tutting his disapproval and for the first time since he woke, Sam feels his heart pound. He disappointed Azazel. He disappointed Azazel and now he’s going to pay, one way or another, but he didn’t mean it, it’s not fair-

“Shshsh, pet, it’s alright,” Azazel says softly, crouching lower to meet Sam’s straining neck with a softer hand than the blonde one, who darted out the way the second Azazel moved nearer. Sam turns his face into the offered palm. “You’re not in trouble, precious, it’s okay.”

Sam deflates ever so slightly, but blinks what he hopes is sorrow and regret up at his master. He doesn’t believe Azazel’s not mad. The last time Sam got sick, he was trussed up and holed away in some pit to wait for the doctor to come along and inject him with Christ knows what, residing in his own vomit. Not a very good selling point but so far Sam has refrained from puking, so that’s a bonus, right?

“What happened?” his voice sharpens but his face is soft looking down at Sam.

Dumb and Dumber exchange glances but stay quiet and Sam would hiss in reprimand and shake his head if he could. Azazel doesn’t appreciate ignorance of his questions and they should know that. Both have seen what exactly happens whenever Sam’s stupid enough to do it.

Azazel pauses his strokes along Sam’s cheek and turns to look at them.

“I _said_ : what happened?”

They made Azazel growl and Sam hasn’t managed to do that it weeks now. Ha. It feels surprisingly good, watching it happen to someone else.

“I found him like this,” dumb-blonde says (Sam smiles dazedly at his own joke), tripping forward. “I tried to get him up, but he wouldn’t." He shrinks. "Then I called in Billy.”

“And why didn’t you call _me_?”

Azazel stands up to his full height, a fair inch above both of them, and Sam misses the contact. But the way the two cower back like chickens caught against wire by a bloodthirsty wolf is totally worth it.

“We didn’t wanna worry you if it was nothin’, sir,” Billy says, bowing his head. _Don’t look the beast in the eye._

“Well, it’s not nothing, is it?” Azazel motions to the lump on the floor, almost unconscious and suspiciously Sam-like. “Does he look in a shape worthy to sell to you? Hm? Or maybe one of you would enjoy taking his place, because one way or another, Mr Roman is getting fucked _and I am getting paid_.”

He’s hissing again. Sam manages a twitch on his sheet that should be an all-out shiver and if he could, he would be backed into the corner right now, trembling to his heart’s content. _If he could move._

He should probably be more concerned about it than he is, but honestly, the numbness is a pleasant relief to the inevitable alternative.

The two skitter like crickets and tilt their heads in instinct, bearing their throats to the sudden bad-as-fuck-alpha scent overpowering the room. Even Sam can feel it, as incoherent as he is.

“We’ll prepare another, sir,” Billie chirps quickly, his voice aimed at the concrete floor. “Any other, whoever you want. We’ll make them better than this runt could _ever_ b--”

Sam watches Azazel’s hand reel back in his direction, then snap forward with all the speed of that same hungry wolf and connect with Billy’s nose. He falls to the floor with a resounding _thud_ and clutches at the scarlet liquid oozing from his nose, as if grabbing at it would magically return it to his body. Clearly, he’s a moron.

“Dick Roman doesn’t have others, you fucking moron!” Azazel agrees with him and Sam wants to smile. The alpha jolts to his knees and grabs Billy’s sweaty head, yanking the ginger curls until he’s looking straight into those piggy brown eyes. “Years, you idiot, _years_ Dick has returned here for _that whore_! Now look at him! Do you really think _anyone_ would pay for _that_? That _pathetic_ sap you _neglected_ to inform me about, and now I’ve lost my sale, you worthless shit!”

Azazel’s hands had appeared at Billy’s throat part way through the furious speech, and now the beta’s coughing, spluttering breaths as the hands just grip harder and cut off more pipes until there’s nothing left atop his neck aside from a big, round, red ball.

And when he stops breathing, Sam feels tears escape his eyes and run his cheeks.

He isn’t sad. In fact, watching one of the men who’s enjoyed molesting him daily have the life choked out of him was sadistically okay, but Sam is _terrified_. If Azazel was willing to murder a man he himself employed because he hadn’t _told_ him about an ill whore, Christ knows what he’ll actually be willing to _do_ to said ill whore…

Sam lets out a sob and flinches pathetically when Azazel turns back to him.

“ _Pleees_ ,” Sam tries, ending the word with a hiss as more tears erupt over his cheeks and Azazel moves towards him. He sits beside Sam and starts rhythmically stroking across his jaw, the other hand pushing lightly along Sam’s bare stomach. Sam watches him stare at the body with blank, unseeing eyes.

“Hush, little one,” Azazel says, crooning the words into his ear. “We’ll make this work, hmm? You’ll be good for me, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Sam tries with everything inside of himself to nod vehemently, and Azazel seems to understand. He smiles and his hand dips lower to push through the ever-apparent slick between Sam’s legs, massaging his hole until more floods out, the warmth moving between his legs the only thing Sam’s really aware off.

“Good boy,” Azazel says. Sam’s pulled upwards, until he’s sat between Azazel’s legs and leaning against his chest, the alpha’s hands still running patterns over his cheek and between his thighs. He says to the blonde one, who’s now snivelling stoically by the door, “Fetch the counter. I think Dick might enjoy our boy here dry. _Move_.”

He’s gone for a total of ten seconds, and in that time Azazel’s hand has found its way into Sam’s hair, pushing at the strands until it’s all off his forehead and the cold breeze meets his flushed skin. Sam croons beneath the attention and he doesn’t even feel guilty about it. He lost that sense years ago.

Blondy returns with an injection needle, all wrapped in plastic and clinical. He hands it to Azazel and Sam notices his hands are shaking.

“Tell Roman we’ll be up soon,” Azazel says, unwrapping the needle and preparing it steadily in his hands just before Sam’s chest. “ _You_ can do that, can’t you? You’re not _quite_ as retarded as your friend there?”

“Of course not, sir,” he splutters. “I mean, uh, yes sir, yes I will, I’ll do that straight away, sir, of course.”

“See to it you do. And by the time our whore returns, I want this mess cleaned up, do you understand?”

He practically runs from the room, nodding.

“Hush now, beautiful omega,” Azazel says, still brushing Sam’s hair back. “The problem will be solved, don’t you worry. Dick still wants you, hmm? Don’t you worry about that, child, don’t you worry.” Sam feels the stab deep in his arm, but he doesn’t flinch. “Sleep now, little one, everything will be normal again when you wake.”

Sam’s eyes drift closed as if on cue and everything else fades to nothing.

\-------

When Sam wakes up, he’s expecting his cell.

The white stained walls, the stench of dirt and come and slick and blood, the iron-rung front and sliding door as Azazel smiles at him and locks the pain in with him.

But he doesn’t wake up to any of that. Sam breathes in, his eyes still closed, and meets with alpha, but it’s one he recognises and it isn’t bad; there’s floral detergent and clean, old wood…Sam opens his eyes. Yeah, there’s wood. Panels of it, right above his head on the ceiling, neat lines of it that keep running all along, nothing like grey concrete he’s so used to. White sheets enveloping him, the top of the physical graffiti t-shirt (with the building on and everything) he’d found in the draw because Dean had told him it was okay…

_Dean._

That’s his scent, nestling in Sam’s nostrils, the nice, homely one Sam was so happy to snuggle into.

_Jesus, Sam. You will not be that pathetic, not ever again, okay? You will never bow down to some fucking alpha just because he strokes your hair and every now and then offers a kind word. You are better than that._

Sam nods at the words in his own head and breathes; in and out, until he’s back to himself and he knows he won’t be returning there, not for the time being, at least.

He knows what happened when he woke up that day.

He was sick, which he now understands had something to do with the implant, his body shutting down after so long in a heat, and Azazel had injected him with the _counter_ to bring his body back to no-heat normal whilst he slept. Sam had woken up a few hours later with blood between his thighs, with more pain racking his body than he can ever remember feeling before. He hadn’t been able to move much for a while after that. Being out of heat meant no slick, and Sam was unconscious so he couldn’t produce his own (not that he ever wanted to) so Dick went in dry. Just like Azazel had promised.

The only thing worse than an endless heat was a knot without slick. Sam would take the heat and slick any day of the week.

A knock at the door sounds and Sam’s under the sheets before he can remember he’s not actually a baby, and he peaks out again just as someone speaks,

“Sam?” Dean. Sam returns from hiding. “Hey, you alive in there? I let you sleep in, man, but it’s like, afternoon. Thought you might be hungry.”

There isn’t a lock on the door – Sam had checked last night – so if Dean wants to charge on in, there’s nothing stopping him. Sam waits for a moment, and apparently so does he because nothing happens for a good solid five seconds.

“Sam?”

“You can come in,” he says, quietly but loud enough to reach the other side of the door, and Dean pushes on the wood and steps inside. He’s smiling but it’s shy. Sam isn’t sure what he has to be shy about.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re alive at least,” Dean says, leaning on the bookshelves beside the door. His eyes flicker to Sam’s top and widen with apparent amusement. Sam shrinks down. “Damn, I thought I’d lost that thing! Ha! Well, thanks for finding it for me, Sammy!”

Sam shrinks even further at the nickname, but then Dean deflates with awkwardness and Sam feels bad.

“Suits you,” he says, somewhat lower, and it makes Sam feel stupidly good to the point where he has to draw in his knees and clutch at them, taking in the smell of Dean’s plaid pyjama pants. He huffs in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his own little useless preparation for what he is sure to be a long day, despite Dean’s declaration of the afternoon.

He watches Dean’s eyes flit the room, noting everything is in the exact same place, lingering on the still bulging MacDonald’s bag. Sam lets his own eyes skitter away with shame. Dean spent good money on food for Sam and he’d just left it to rot…

Surprisingly, Dean doesn’t seem to be mad, just maybe a little disappointed. He sighs.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to keep an eye on that, huh?” he says, offering a smile. “You gotta eat, man, or you’ll just waste away.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam tries, watching the alpha carefully for his reaction. His smile falters, but he doesn’t grow angry or anything, just tilts a sympathetic eyebrow.

“No, god, don’t be, dude, yesterday was huge, I get that.” He moves closer and sits on the edge of the bed, so Sam skitters away with as much subtlety as he can muster. “But you’ve gotta eat. I don’t care about the money or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about, I could just do without another trip to see Cas quite so soon after the first. Can’t have you keeling over on me, can I?”

Sam just shakes his head when those green eyes linger. They really are pretty…

“So, smells like that heats let up, huh?”

Sam starts. Yes. Yeah, it has let up. How the hell did he not even notice that? Jeese, the biggest change in his anatomy since he first went _into_ heat as an omega and he doesn’t register a thing? He seriously needs to start paying attention, but damn, it feels _good_.

“Heh. Yeah, must be nice.” Dean smiles again and the delicate skin beside his eyes wrinkles, bordering those lashes and oak-leaf green orbs. He looks really nice like that, smiling. Sam even cracks a tiny smirk himself and it feels really freaking weird on his face so he stops, quickly.

Even without the heat, Dean smells really, _really_ nice, and it’s hard to ignore. Things around the room have the flavour of Dean, but having the real article right there is like _tasting_ the bacon, rather than just smelling it.

He stands up and the calm scent wafts with him.

“I _did_ make you breakfast, but I think that’s gone gross by now, so how ‘bout I make you some brunch?”

Sam feels guilty all over again and his eyes return to the floor.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling his heart pick up and that distinct fear well inside his pores again.

Dean frowns and sniffs the air, smelling Sam out for the asshole he is and-

“No, no,” he rushes, holding out his hands like he might with a wild animal. Sam wonders if that’s all he is to him; some wild little thing in need of taming and training – _eat all your greens, little one, then we can go for walkies!_ “It’s fine, I ate most of it myself, it’s not a problem, okay?”

Sam just jolts his eyes around and bites at his lower lip. He nods when Dean doesn’t turn, earning Sam a smile and a relieved dip of his broad shoulders.

“Come on, then,” he says, leading to the door and holding it open for Sam to walk through. Sam climbs from the bed and makes his way the short distance over, keeping as wide a birth from Dean as is physically possible in the slim space. Sam pauses once through and waits for Dean to lead the way into the kitchen, thankfully without any touching or lingering eye contact.

Dean’s apartment is strange, and not because Sam hasn’t set foot in one for a seriously long time. It’s all wooden, industrial almost, as though it isn’t quite finished yet, but it manages to still be artful and intentional. Sam realises it’s probably a loft apartment, what with the huge space, the ceiling so high up and the amount of time they had spent in the elevator last night amounted to at least eleven floors. The place suits it actually; graffiti type paintings on the wall, like Banksy, chests as drawers and a freaking locker unit at one of the sides. Weird but homey. Sam wonders if he likes it.

“You have a nice apartment,” he mutters, because yeah, it is nice. And if Sam was going to choose any place to hold up permanent residence, it would probably be something like this. But Dean lives in this one, so it’s obviously taken. Ha, not as if he could ever buy his own as an unmated omega anyway, sure there were rules saying he could but who the hell followed them?

“Huh? Oh right, yeah, thanks. It’s my brother’s design really, or half-brother, he lived here first, did up the whole thing. If it was my decision that whole wall would be TV.”

Sam smirks shortly at that and looks at Dean in hope for the rest of that story. Dean catches his eye and smiles too kindly for Sam to handle, so he looks back away.

Dean motions for the kitchen table with red iron chairs. “Sit.” Sam sits. “Yeah, it was Adam’s place to begin with, but he met this hot alpha chick and moved right out for me to move right in. I should be grateful I guess, but damn, I can’t bring myself to like that bitch.”

Sam could get that. He blinks up at Dean and watches him bustle around the kitchen, pulling out pans and eggs and cheese. He’s changed from yesterday, out of the plaid shirt and plain grey tee and now in a dark green Henley, rolled up to reveal sturdy looking forearms. Same style but new jeans and no brown boots, revealing black socked feet. He looks good, Sam will allow, but he’s too old. Hell, what is too old anymore? Azazel was forty something and most of the guys Sam laid down for were older than thirty-five. So by all accounts, Dean should be a perfect age, considering. He wonders how old the alpha is.

“Are you allergic to anything, Sam?” he asks, twisting round and eyeing Sam.

No-one’s asked him that in years…it’s disconcerting actually. He shakes his head.

“Okay, great,” Dean smiles again, turning back to his stove.

About ten-twenty minutes of watching Dean bustle around the kitchen later and a plate sets itself before Sam. He looks down at it. Smells good. Looks good, all creamy and eggy and cheesy, arranged lovingly onto the plate with expert hands…Sam’s not hungry.

“Hey now, remember what I said? You have to eat, it’s a rule.” Dean sits opposite him and raises an expectant eyebrow. “Come on now.”

Sam lifts a fork and prods at the pasta concoction. It doesn’t look drugged or smell it and Sam was watching Dean the whole time and it didn’t look like he put anything in it…but still. Sam doesn’t want to take a chance and he hasn’t eaten anything whole other than the fries and hunks of bread on good days for three years.

“’M’not hungry,” he tries, but Dean’s having none of it.

“Nope, nu-uh. You’re gonna have to eat, Sam, and you’re not leaving this table ‘til you do, I swear. And, hey, it ain’t that bad, I can cook _some_ things.”

Sam lifts one piece of pasta and raises it to his eye sight, peering it thoroughly over before placing it between his lips and chewing quickly. It’s gone before he can register much, but it did taste really good, the bit he did manage to taste, and he looks down at the plate longingly, then back up at testy green eyes. Damn. He picks up another forkful, then another, and pretty soon the only thing left on the plate is the cheesy cream stuff, and even then Sam scoops most of it up.

“Was that so bad?” Dean asks, and Sam’s suddenly reminded he’s not alone and drops the fork to the ceramic plate with a loud _clank_.

“Thank you,” Sam says, hands in his lap and eyes on the empty plate.

“You want some more?” Dean asks, but Sam shakes his head. The alpha shrugs and replaces the plate with a glass of liquid that looks like pee but smells like…apple.

Apple juice. There’s no way in hell Dean could know, but for over three years, the only thing Sam’s allowed himself to crave was freaking _apple-juice_ and now it’s staring him in the eye. Damn if it’s drugged, Sam snatches up the glass and glugs it all down so fast it’s gone before he manages to taste much. But Dean’s there, holding the carton out and pouring more in before Sam can even ask and this glass is gone almost as fast as the first.

“You like apple-juice,” Dean muses, finally putting the heavenly cartoon back into its place in the fridge. Sam eyes it as the door closes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sam places the empty glass back down and slumps in the chair, his eyes drifting slightly even as he forces them not to.

He hears Dean chuckle. “Go, go back to bed. You earned it, what with all that eating.” He’s smiling again and he looks so good, Sam forgets the apple-juice and weird cheesy thing, right up until his eyes close at their own accord. “Go on, kiddo,” Dean says, humour in his voice.

“Thank you,” Sam says, once his eyes have been opened and he’s bullied them into staying there. He watches Dean turn and look at him, all kind and happy again, but this time Sam doesn’t look away.

“That is my pleasure, dude. But seriously, go to bed, I don’t wanna have to carry you.” Sam slumps up and trudges toward the guest bedroom. “Oh, crap, Sam?” He stops and turns to face Dean. “Shit, I totally forgot…look, I’m supposed to be working tomorrow. I think I might be able to get out of it, but…”

“You don’t have to do that,” Sam says, frowning slightly.

“I’ll ask Gabe to come over or something, keep you company or entertained, or whatever,” _or to keep an eye on you._ “You sure that’s okay?” Sam nods and the motion makes it feel like his brain’s dislodged and is slugging around his skull. “Okay, great. Hey, you wake up at night and get bored, grab whatever book you want from your room, okay? Or feel free to come out here and turn on the TV, that’s yours too. And if I get back from work and you haven’t eaten anything, I’ll be real pissed, okay?”

Sam nods again and Dean shoos him, apparently taking pity on his pathetic little face.

He doesn’t bother showering or anything, and the second his face hits the pillows, everything fades to nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you could comment I would be very happy :)


	5. Bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings, except for some domestic fluff, i guess, will be for the next chapter as well, I think, but then it gets slightly more interesting :)

By the time Dean finally slots the key into his own front door, he’s about ready to tear his own hair out. And it wasn’t as though his day had sucked; in fact it was actually pretty decent, as the average day goes. It was just the knowledge of Sam being stuck in his apartment all day long, with nothing but a hyper-active beta keeping him company was almost too much to bear and Dean had found himself counting down the hours. It turned out to be a long fucking day.

“What the fuck is that smell, Winchester?” Rufus had asked, stuffing his nose in Dean’s jacket collar. And honestly it took everything in Dean’s power to stop himself from completely spilling the beans and fucking himself over. _‘Oh yeah, I found this really terrific underage omega in the streets and I’m pretty sure he used to be a sex slave but I don’t know for sure because he doesn’t want to talk about it and he smells ridiculously good and I think maybe if I spent more time with him I might actually figure that he’s a really cool guy and if I ever tried anything with him I’d be screwed and he’d never talk to me again and he’d run away and I really really don’t want that to happen. Also I’m harbouring him illegally in my home'._  Somehow, Dean figured that wouldn’t go down particularly well in a station full of cops.

Instead, he’d answered, “What, the omega? Yeah, Adam’s mate dragged her nephew over, just some dorky kid, doesn’t quite know what effect he has yet, if you know what I mean,” at which Rufus had rolled his eyes and Dean had figured he’d escaped with a pretty decent cover story. So long as Adam and the skank don’t find out.

The second Dean steps back into his apartment and said awesome omega stench wafts over to greet him, he’s once again sold. It’s so strong and wonderful, in fact, that beta and his own scent weaved deep into it drift away and all that’s left is heaven and perfection and _home_ (though Dean figures that’s because it’s nestled into _his_ home). Dean drops his keys in the dish by the door and quickly makes his way towards the living room.

He’s greeted by Batman.

“See, now _this_ is a better episode, ‘cause it’s got Catwoman. You’ve always gotta count the perks, and in this case, we’ve got a very obvious perk. Two, actually.” Dean hears Gabriel’s voice with an incredulous eye roll.

And when a stronger, confident, almost humoured voice replies, “But I thought you said bad-guys are important,” Dean’s shocked into halting his movements all together, silent steps away from the couch. The figures sitting there haven’t noticed him yet, probably because the TV’s on so goddamn loud it’s a miracle they haven’t gotten complaints. But Dean can seriously not complain either because Sam is…so _not_ Sam it’s crazy. He’s curled up tight, sure, but his head’s up in interest and he’s smiling openly at Gabriel like the sun shines straight out of his ass. At that moment, something akin to jealousy rears its ugly head deep in Dean’s guts, gleefully making itself known, but he ignores it. If the kids comfortable, who the hell is Dean to judge who he decides to be comfortable with, right? Even if it is Dean’s apartment…

“Ah, yes, young-grasshopper,” Sam laughs and Dean grimaces at the beautiful sound, “but Catwoman’s both. She’s a super- _hot_ bad-guy, or at least she is in this episode. Best of both worlds, you see?”

“You guys’ve been ogling over cartoons all day? Really?”

Sam’s head whips round at Dean’s words like the speed of light and he stares for a second, something sharp entering the air as his heart beats fast at the surprise, but then _Gabriel_ looks his way, winks, and Sam’s all good again, just like that, even offering Dean a tiny smile. Dean eyes up the beta.

“What? I’m educating the kid.”

“Uh huh.”

Gabriel pauses the TV and then they’re both looking Dean’s way, one from under his too-long bangs and the other with proud, show-off eyes that just know they’re bugging Dean.

“How was work, honey?” Gabriel says. Dean rolls his eyes.

“Awesome, cupcake, how was your day?”

Gabriel sighs and lounges back, the pinched look on his face considering and unsure, until he just slides his eyes over to Sam and stares, a tiny grin spreading his face until Sam looks stuck and it’s all he can do to smile back.

“I dunno, pretty good,” Gabriel says slyly. “What d’you say, Sam? How was our day?”

Sam looks trapped and wild for a second, eyes wide; but he keeps them on Gabriel, nods at the expression Dean can’t see being given, and visibly calms. He turns back to Dean.  
“It was a good day, thank you,” he says, offering Dean a closed mouth smile that looks just about as forced as they come, but Dean beams back anyway. Even if it was from Gabriel’s intrusive coaxing, the kid’s taking huge leaps forward, and that’s something, right?

“Good,” Dean replies, nodding his approval. “I’m glad you’ve been making use of my DVD’s.”

The omega ducks his head again and Dean wonders what the hell he said wrong this time, when Gabriel nudges his foot at Sam’s leg and says, “He means it literally, by the way. He never watches ‘em, it’s a total waste and crime actually. Ironic, being a pig and all.”

“Nice, Gabe, thanks,” Dean says, shaking his head. Gabriel just swings round to look at him again, giant grin plastering his face as he winks and Sam looks back up with a blush. Dean eyes the ceiling and sighs. “Anyway, _asshole_ , I was thinking we could go out for dinner. You know, early dinner, ice-cream from Farrell’s as desert. Sound good?”

Gabriel reclines again with his arms stretched above his head. “Hell, I could go for some ice-cream, I’m in. That okay with you, buddy?”

Sam looks and nods, shyly.

“Great,” Dean says, “Lemme just grab a quick shower, I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Gotta get this stench of o’ me, it’s freaking disgusting…”

As it turns out, Dean takes less than ten minutes. He’s in the shower, soaped and rinsed within three minutes and out and dry in the next two. He throws on jeans, a clean grey Henley, and laces up his boots all in record time so he’s back out in the living room seven minutes later. Definitely some kind of a record.

“Look at you, all clean and sparkly just for us. I dunno ‘bout you, Sam, but I sure feel special,” is Gabriel’s greeting. Dean throws a sock at him.

Sam hovers beside Gabriel the whole way down to the car, never touching, but by his side to the point where it’s noticeable. Dean’s just about to feel jealous again, especially when they board the elevator and Sam _purposely_ moves until Gabriel’s bordered by both of them in the middle, but then the doors open again and Garth from downstairs steps in, so Sam shuffles until he’s behind both beta and alpha, close by to both of them. It makes Dean smile with pitiful pride.

“Dean Winchester,” Garth greets, smiling over all of them. Dean would step right in front if it was Benny - or probably just about anyone else (even though the guy’s totally harmless) - but Garth is about as threatening as wet toilet paper so there’s no way Sam could be nervous of him. And the scent in the box doesn’t change aside from the inclusion of the new beta, so Dean figures they’re all good. Sam still stays at their backs though, and Dean’s pathetically okay with that.

“Howdy, Garth,” he greets back. “How you been man?”

“Great, actually, thanks!” he grins and Dean wonders if that was a good move, engaging. Especially when his eyes narrow back on Sam, and Dean can practically _feel_ his pulse pick up at the attention. He says, good-naturedly, “And who is this handsome young man?”

Dean lets Sam see his exasperated-but-not-worried expression before introducing, “This is Sam. Sam, Garth.”

Garth grabs Sam’s hand before anyone can do anything, and bully to the kid for not freaking out. He shakes it and smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, little one, you too. Now you make sure you come up and tell me if Dean here’s being too rough with you, okay?” Sam’s eyes widen until he realises it wasn’t a euphemism. “He’s all kinds of sweet underneath that city cop bravado so don’t you buy it for a minute.” Sam offers a tight smile and nod before the doors open and Garth jumps out with a salute.

Dean feels both Gabriel and Sam’s eyes slowly make their way up to him and he rolls his own. “What can I say, the dufus means well.”

Gabriel snorts. “Sure he does. But what the hell’s he talking about, city cop bravado? Has he _met_ you?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole,” Dean says. “Well, whatever, Gabe, you’re just jealous he ignored you.”

“Woah, no way, I wouldn’t wanna take Sam here’s spotlight.” He turns to Sam’s grimace with a grin. “Ain’t that right, kiddo?”

Sam just squirms and lifts a hand to poke at his fluffy, clean, finger-fluff-able hair.

When they finally make it to the basement floor, Gabriel’s teasing the holy crap out of Sam, and to Dean’s surprise, Sam takes it all. Every stupid comment and snide wink, even a head rub on one rare occasion, Sam just rolls his eyes and glares back at him, never with anything even close to malice though. And Dean watches the display with something between to a heavy heart and a happy one, seeing Sam as something not like a timid puppy. Even if Gabe’s the one doing it.

“So, what are we in the mood for?” Dean asks, once he’s comfortably behind the wheel and Gabriel’s beside him with Sam safely in the back. Dean had been relieved to find at five o’clock this morning that the horror-stench had dissipated slightly, and once he drove to work with the windows wide open, he’d managed to wash it out entirely. Now all he can smell is the weirdly comforting mix of alpha, beta and omega, nothing like fear at all.

“I’m thinking greasy and cheap. Pizza?”

“Fine with me. Sam?” Dean glances at the boy when he looks up in the rear-view mirror to reverse. Sam shrugs and nods with a curve to his lips that looks forced. Hell, at least he’s trying. What the hell did Gabriel say to him?

It’s not a long drive to Tony’s Pizza. Dean knows Houston like he might a child - hell, he should, he’s served it for the last five years of his life - and they take shortcuts through dodgy back-end streets that leads them right to the front door.

Dean grabs them a table and sits down on one side; Gabriel opposite him and Sam beside Gabriel, next to the wall. His head’s down, his eyes dart from table to table and his hands are tucked neatly on his lap, as inconspicuous as any sixteen year old can possibly get. Dean wonders what they all look like. Surely he and Gabe don’t look old enough to be the dude’s parents, that would be humiliating and anger-worthy, Dean’s pretty sure. Cool uncles? Well, not with Sam looking so freaking terrified.

“Hey, you okay, kiddo?”

Sam zips his eyes up to him quickly before they dart away again, this time back to the ends of the borrowed hoodie as he fiddles with the sleeves covering his hands. He nods sharply.

“You sure, man? ‘Cause we can always go, if that’s what you want. Order in or something.” Dean ducks his head to get a better look. “Sam?”

“No,” Sam says, levelling his eyes up but keeping his head down. “No, really, I’m fine, we can stay. I-it’s just, I uh…I haven’t, um… _been_ to a restaurant in a while. I’m just not used to it, I guess.”

“Yeah okay, sure,” Dean nods. “That’s reasonable, I get it. Just let us know the second you wanna leave, alright?” Sam nods. “Alright.”

The waitress comes over then, some chirpy beta called Becky according to her nametag, and asks them what drinks they’d like.

“Well, I can always have a beer back home,” Dean says. “Coke’d be great, thanks.”

“Your best milkshake, please,” Gabriel smiles. Before Becky’s even done writing and before she can look at Sam expectantly for him to just gawp back awkwardly, Gabriel intervenes with, “Make that two. You like milkshake, right?” Sam nods gratefully. “’Course you do. Yeah, two milkshakes please.”

She leaves with a hyper smile and, “Awesome, coming right up!”

Dean turns to Sam. “So, what’d you eat today?”

He looks up, over to Gabriel, back again. He visibly swallows, “Gabriel made me pancakes. And then we had sandwiches for lunch.”

“Good. You eat all of it?”

Sam blinks and looks back down. “Most.”

“Huh.” Dean looks at Gabriel with a quirked brow.

“What, he said he was full,” Gabriel shrugs. Dean rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Right. Sam, you get this isn’t for my benefit, right? Dude, you have to eat, seriously, you’ll get sick, I’m not kidding, man.” Sam shucks his shoulders to his ears and nods from down in his seat. Dean softens. “I need you healthy.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, so quiet it’s a strain to hear. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Dean straightens out the dopey, heart-felt rise of his eyebrows and coughs back a frown. He nods and sniffs.

“So long as you know.”

“ _Anywho_ ,” Gabriel says, eyes intensely wide observing Dean. “Who’s having what? ‘Cause man I could eat a pig in shit, I’m telling ya.”

“Awesome,” Dean mutters, meeting Sam’s miniscule smirk with one of his own. It’s all he can do not to beam. “How ‘bout two large everything’s? Except fish, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Gabriel pouts. He nods. “Sounds good.”

Becky returns with their drinks and takes the order with a grin. She walks away with a ruffle of Sam’s hair and “Aren’t you a cutey? Bet you make all the alphas crazy, huh?” which he growls lowly at and quickly moves to pat it back down. Dean snorts.

“I think you need it cut, buddy,” he says, grinning around the straw of his coke. Sam glowers at his own glass and nods begrudgingly. Dean looks down at his watch. “Only four forty, we’ll be done here, what, five twenty?” Gabriel shrugs. “What d’you say we make a run to Target, grab you some clothes and stuff? Get you outta my old sweats at least.”

“You don’t have to…”

But Dean holds up a hand. “Kid, you’re in my care now. And that means you eat properly, you wear clothes that fit and you get your hair cut to avoid touchy beta chicks. Okay?”

Sam pauses for a second before just one side of his mouth lifts and he smiles crookedly, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks whenever he blinks, a small nod - and Dean feels his heart swell five times its normal size and he nods and grins back. It feels really freaking good.

“Cas sends his love,” Gabriel says randomly, Dean frowns over at him to see his fingers flicking at the keypad to his phone.

“Still at work?” he asks.

“Yup, graveyard shift, poor devil. Just means he’s gonna be a sulky ass tomorrow is all.” Gabriel slips his phone back away and grins. “Luckily, I’m back at work.”

“Right,” Dean shakes his head with a smile.

The dreaded Becky returns with their food and plates, Sam leans over onto the table to avoid her, but she still manages a quick shoulder pat and wink. He just frowns and looks away until she’s long gone and Dean starts loading up his plate. Sam blinks up at him.

“I seriously get I’m starting to sound like an overprotective mom, but eat. I swear I’ll butt out if you do,” and Dean drops the plate in front of him.

Dean notices Gabriel watching Sam with him, just peeking out of the corner of his eye as Sam picks up his fork and prods at the pile of salad, spearing some leaves before slowly drawing it up to his lips. His eyes close in pleasure as he chews and Dean knows he’s hungry, obviously the food isn’t drugged in a restaurant with witnesses. He doesn’t get what Sam’s problem is.

“Dude, it’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Dean says, ripping off a bite of pizza and shoving it into his mouth. He says around the dough, “See?”

Sam just looks up and back down for the fiftieth time and sighs loudly. Something seems to be decided in his mind though, because he’s replacing his fork to the table and, with a quick glance to Gabriel, he takes up a slice of pizza and bites off the end. He smiles wider than Dean’s ever seen.

“What I tell ya?” And Sam smiles at him. Damn. Is it possible to get butterflies from a _smile_?

They eat in comfortable silence, each taking their own slices and when Sam finally does, the sized grin Dean gives him is monumental. Together, they finish all of the garlic bread, Sam happily takes most of the salad and then there’s only four slices of pizza left. Dean’s happy with what he saw Sam eat, so he doesn’t say anything else about it, just calls Becky over for the check and a box.

“Is it okay if I go to the bathroom?” Sam asks, avoiding eye contact like he’s been willing himself to talk for the last twenty minutes and only just plucked up the courage.

Dean smiles incredulously, “Yeah, jeese, sure you can. You know where it is?”

Sam nods in the direction and skulks over there with Dean’s eyes on him the entire way.

“So, how was he today?” Dean asks, the second he leaves Dean’s sight.

Gabriel shrugs. “Fucking terrified when he first came out. Thought he was gonna freak on me, you know? But then I made him pancakes which he had, like, one of, and we watched a couple episodes of Friends until I asked him if he likes superheroes. But he’s a teenage boy, so _obviously_ , and we watched Batman till you came back. Over and out, sergeant,” he salutes.

“Mm,” Dean says. “I thought I told you to keep an eye on him eating.”

“Well, I kept an eye on ‘im. And I can’t force it down his throat, can I? He said he wasn’t hungry.” He coughs. “So how was he yesterday?”

“Little jumpy, I guess, but not like he was. He seems better now, but I guess he’s still got a lot of shell to crawl out of, so…” Dean shrugs. “Did he says anything to you? You know, about where he came from?”

Gabriel shakes his head. “Not a thing. You?”

“I haven’t wanted to ask, honestly. Figure if he wants to spill he will, if not, then that’s his business. But maybe you could get it out of him? He seems to be a hell of a lot more relaxed without me around.”

Gabriel eyes him like he knows where Dean’s going with this and smirks. “Aw, don’t worry about it, Dean-o. S’probably just ‘cause I’m a beta, less intimidating. Not ‘cause he likes me better or anything…” Dean scowls.

“So what’d you say to him?”

“Nothing much. I just told him you had good intentions, is all. Made sure he knows you _wanna_ fuck him but you probably won’t.”

Dean chokes on a mouthful of air and death-glares at Gabriel, just about to snap for a comment when Sam enters back into his line of sight and he has to soften for the kid. Gabriel just winks and pulls out his wallet.

“I’ve got this one, kiddo’s,” he says gleefully, slapping a few notes onto the table top. Dean just scowls subtly at the asshole, then rapidly softens his expression when Sam looks uncertainly over at him, sensing the shift in the air, probably. Dean forces it down with a smile and directs it forcefully at Gabriel. _Fuck you_ , it says.

They run to Target first. Gabriel pushes the cart just so he can lean on it, and Sam stays rooted to its side the entire way around the store, his hand white clutching at the plastic siding. Dean leads them to the clothes aisle and stops beside a pair of blue army-print skinny jeans and grins, turning to Sam.

“I think these would look _amazing_ ,” he says, and the second Sam sees them, he balks, then grins back up at Dean with a slight sneer, as if to say, _‘Yeah, I’d like to see you try and get them on me’_ , which Dean laughs loudly at.

In the end, they buy three pairs of jeans, four plain t-shirts, two raglan tops, a few shirts, one heavy-duty hoodie, packets of boxer-briefs and socks and a pair of navy converse one-star sneakers. Dean’s completely under the impression that this is just the foundation of a wardrobe, and he’s just about to reassure Sam that they’ll grab some more clothes at a later date, but at Sam’s face, eying up the price on the till, he stops.

“What?” he asks.

“It’s too much,” Sam whispers, shaking his head. He looks up at Dean, panicking. “It’s too much.”

The woman at the till smiles sweetly, giving Dean a look to say, _‘poor little guy’_ , but Dean completely ignores her and turns to Sam, displaying his back.

“I told you man, I’m taking care of you now. And that means new clothes, alright?”

“But-”

“No but’s. And this…this is nothing. It won’t last you longer than two weeks, and it definitely won’t see you through winter, not in Houston. Just let me worry about it, okay?Please?” Dean lifts one eyebrow.

Sam looks up at him with wide eyes, turns to Gabriel as if looking for answers, then turns back to Dean and huffs. “Thank you,” he whispers, running his hand over the back of his neck and turning away, stepping closer to Gabriel until they’re touching by a fraction, their clothes brushing minutely as Sam crowds behind him. Something inside Dean maddens stupidly and he hands the lady his card maybe slightly harsher than he should, but she’s still looking at him all soft-like, as if Sam’s some weird behaving kid and not the PTSD-suffering, sweet-as-all-hell, apple-pie stinking, beta-preferring sixteen year old omega that his is. Well, screw _her_.

Dean carries the bags to the car in front of beta and omega, shoves them in the boot and dives into the driver’s seat before either can even get their doors open.

“What happened to ice cream?” Gabriel asks tentatively, and Dean wonders what he smells like to make the mouthiest beta in the whole goddamn country _tentative_.

“Crap,” Dean says, but he hasn’t forgotten. “I’ve got some in, I think, have that.”

Dean notices the tense silence right up until his own front door, but he doesn’t try to remedy it. Not when Sam actually presses _into_ Gabriel.

“I’m hittin’ the hay, guys, it’s been a long day. Help yourselves to the fridge or whatever; Gabe, the couch is empty if you want it. I’ll see you in the morning. G’night.”

Gabriel says good-night back, but Dean notices all too clearly when Sam stays silent. And he’s sure in the morning he’s gonna regret being such an ass, but right now, he’s perfectly happy to let the omega have his precious little beta. He’s obviously a lot more comfortable without the big bad alpha around anyway.


	6. The Great American Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for memories in this chapter for Sammy...I'm pretty sure they're graphic and I've updated the tags accordingly.

Sam feels Gabriel’s eyes glued to his face as he watches Dean’s door slam shut.

He whistles lowly like this is all just some joke and pats a gentle, tentative hand to Sam’s shoulder. “Touchy, touchy, huh?”

“Why is he angry?” Sam asks quietly, though he’s not really sure why he bothers. He was watching Dean’s eyes at the exact moment he stepped up beside Gabriel back at the store and he saw what was in them. He’s pissed because he thinks Sam likes Gabriel. As in, _likes_ Gabriel. Which is stupid because Sam’s not interested in anyone, let alone a beta, and especially not an overprotective alpha that makes him eat and buys him clothes and gets jealous when Sam starts feeling comfortable. Yeah, well, whatever.

Gabriel steps in front of his eye line with narrowed brows and rests his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “He’s not angry, kiddo. Look, don’t worry about it Sam, he’ll come around, he’s just being an ass. Okay?” He waits for Sam to nod before grinning, “Great, now how ‘bout that ice-cream?”

 

Gabriel leaves later that night because apparently he’s got an early shift in the morning and he needs his beauty sleep. Sam doesn’t say anything because it’s not his place, but he watches the front door shut with a finality that has his heart beating irrationally. Or maybe it’s not irrational after all, maybe it’s completely warranted because Dean’s mad and Sam knows what alphas do when they’re mad.

And when he goes to bed that night - after a stupidly long shower that he doesn’t even feel guilty about - he wishes beyond anything that his door has a lock.

_“You’re a fucking idiot!”_

_Sam’s head connects with the concrete floor of his cell and suddenly the stinging in his cheek from Azazel’s hand isn’t quite so prominent anymore. He sees blood in his vision but he couldn’t say where it comes from._

_Then there’s a really strong hand around his throat and a face parallel to his in the next second, Azazel growling, “I should keep squeezing right now, shouldn’t I, Sam? End this pathetic excuse for a life once and for all, wouldn’t you like that?”_

_“I didn’t…” Sam tries, but his voice is thick and heavy and choked in his throat, unrecognisable._

_Azazel snorts out a bitter laugh and his fingers contract together around Sam’s tender flesh. “What didn’t you do Sam? Well, you didn’t do what you were told, did you? You didn’t stay still after I specifically warned you myself that causing a fuss with this one could only possibly lead to pain. I warned you, Sam. And now I don’t get paid and you don’t get fed.”_

_Sam’s head is lifted with Azazel’s hand and shoved back at the floor so hard he whites out for a whole few minutes; not noticing the men entering his cell or his whole body being lifted straight into the air._

_When he comes to, he’s sat upright in a chair. He’s disorientated, and for a few measly seconds he thinks he’s back at Ellen’s; Jo giggling away in her high-chair as Sam flicks peas into her hands from across the dining table when Ellen’s back is turned. But then he shifts to reach for his fork and his hand won’t move. His eyes flicker open and burn under the fluorescent lights above, he moves his arms on the chair rests but they’re restrained by metal clasps, unyielding. But it’s only really when he happens to glance down and sees his legs splayed and kept there that he really starts to panic. Leather straps pin his thighs to the wood and his ankles are locked tightly in place when he tries to shift them…his chest is strapped down, he’s naked and he can’t move. And even he can smell the fear throwing itself off of him._

_“Let me go,” he tries to yell but it comes out weak and pathetic and croaky from Azazel’s expert fingers, his protest falling completely flat._

_“We don’t reward bad pets, little one. But do you know what we do, do?” And that pale, evil face is dancing just before Sam’s, his horrible lips tilted in a bitter smile. “We punish them.”_

_And then Sam’s screaming like a banshee because it_ hurts _, it hurts so fucking much he can’t take it, he can’t stand it and he needs to die and they need to kill him because this is too much, this is all just to fucking much…_

 _“Oh, Sam,” Azazel chastises, shaking his head like Sam’s over exaggerating the_ foot long pole _that’s just dug itself up his ass. For once in his stupid, useless little life he’s even_ slightly _grateful that he’s slick. “This is nothing, little one. But would you enjoy some real fun?”_

_Sam shakes his head, chanting over and over again, “nononononono,” but he’s not sure if that’s what escapes his lips. It’s digging in and it’s aching and dammit it hurts so freaking bad… “Please,” he pants, shifting his spine back the few millimetres it can go, his tailbone hitting the wood. “Please just kill me…”_

_“You had your chance for that, Sam. Now I’ve decided to keep you and this will be your punishment.” He sits down leisurely on a stool just before Sam, his stupid ugly chin propped up by one fist and the dumb contemplating expression on his fucking face has Sam bucking in his restraints. Not that it does anything but ramp up the pain metre, but at least this way he’s not submitting. Three weeks of at least fifty knots and he hasn’t submitted. If everything didn’t hurt so badly, he’d actually be kinda proud of that fact. “But you know what, Sammy-boy? Why don’t you give this one a go?”_

_And something’s shoved into his hand, something box shaped with a lever type thing on the top of it when Sam’s fingers can explore it, wires leading from the end…oh._ Oh _. Fuck, really?_

_“Please don’t,” he sobs, and he knows he’s crying but he can’t help it. They can’t do this to him._

_“Oh, I’m not doing anything Sam. You are.”_

_No he’s not. Good, the remote can stay in his hand for all of eternity because there is no way in this side of hell that he is flicking it and letting the rod do_ anything _to him. Whatever the hell it does._

_“What, you don’t think you’ll do it, little boy?” Sam just smirks back. “Shall we make a bet? I bet you the life of your little Madison fuck-buddy that you’ll flick that switch the precise second you’re told to.”_

_Madison. Maddie. No, they don’t know Maddie, they can’t get to Maddie, she’s all the way back at the home and she’s an alpha, why would they want Maddie, they can’t just kill her…_

_“You can’t…”_

_“We can. We found you, didn’t we, Sam Wesson? And we know exactly who your little alpha is, your sweet little Madison Thomas; and she takes care of you, doesn’t she Sam? I mean she’s a little old, I would say, but who doesn’t love a good twink-”_

_“Shut up,” Sam snaps, glaring needle-fine daggers into those dead eyes. “I’ll do it. Just shut up.”_

_“Touch a nerve there, did I Sammy?” He reclines as far back on the stool as he can without toppling off; Sam would kick him straight over if he could. “Tell you what, you perform like the obedient little bitch I just know you are, and your mate can stay safely alive far away from you? How’s that sound?”_

_Sam snarls under his breath but, “Fine,” comes out an all-out growl._

_A hand pets his knee. “Good boy. Now flick the switch.” Sam hesitates, so Azazel leans back slightly and peers over Sam’s shoulder. “We still have the address of one Madison Thomas, don’t we?”_

_And Sam flicks it._

_At first, he doesn’t feel anything and he can breathe that this isn't so bad. But then his spine arches as far as it possibly can in the restraints, his whole frame trembling with the shock from the probe and then the pain comes. Sam didn’t exactly know what an electric shock would feel like, especially happening_ inside _of him, but this…this isn’t what he was expecting. And suddenly the pain of the simple metal bar digging into his inside isn’t a problem and he could probably forget it if it wasn’t the source of all evil._

_He can feel blood in his throat and he knows his mouth is opening spastically, but there’s nothing he can do to stop it. There’s only pain. It’s indescribable._

_It’s only a minute or so later when the shock’s almost left his system that he realises it wasn’t a continuous thing. One shock, just like that, so powerful Sam’s toes ache from the pressure he had to put on them._

_He can’t breathe._

_“Have you learnt your lesson, Sam?”_

_“Y-yes,” he gasps, his whole body twitching from the aftershock._

_“And what is it?”_

_“A-always do what you…say,” he pushes, wincing with every twitch of his body. He doesn’t want to get up, not ever, he doesn’t want to move ever again._

_Azazel smiles. “Flick the switch, Sam.”_

_Sam’s eyes widen. “B-but I-”_

_“You see? You haven’t learnt it. The switch, Sam.”_

_And this time, Sam does make a noise. He screams the second his finger roles over that switch, he’s crying and sobbing the whole way through everything, thrashing around in his restraints like a wild animal, twitching viciously at every jolt and screaming,_

_“Please stop!” Panting, “Don’t do this please, Azazel, please don’t do this I’ll do anything, I’ll do what you say, I swear, I’ll always do as I’m told, pleasepleasepleaseplease don’t hurt Madison please I’ll do whatever you say I’ll do anything!”_

“Sam!”

_But then it’s just a tirade of mumbling when his body simply convulses and there’s movement around as Azazel goes to get someone because this shouldn’t be happening and Sam knows he’ll be sick from this if he doesn’t just die. Let him die._

_“MaddieMaddieMaddieMaddieMaddie…”_

“Sam, wake up!”

And everything just vanishes again and he’s left in another room with another angry alpha and no not again, this can’t happen again please, please, he’ll do anything—

“Please, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything I swear, please don’t hurt me again, pleasepleaseplease, Dean, I can’t do it again, please don’t hurt me…”

“Fuck,” it says, and the smell’s there again and hands move to his shoulders and this can’t happen again, he won’t survive this time, he just knows it, he won’t survive the rod again…

“Please don’t hurt me, Dean, please don’t hurt me, I’ll be good if you let me, I’ll be so good, please don’t be angry, Dean,” he mumbles, his eyes unseeing and huge, his words deadpan and quiet. “Please don’t do it again-”

“Sam, come on, Sam, come back to me man, it’s okay, you’re okay, come on, sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you, I’ll never hurt you.”

“Madison doesn’t deserve it, she didn’t do anything, please don’t hurt her, she doesn’t deserve it, she’s so good, so good please don’t kill her…”

The hands move from Sam and he just curls up into a ball because the restraints are gone and he can. He rocks into himself because that’s what his omega mom does, holds him against her chest and rocks him until he stops being scared of alpha dad when he’s drinking and when he hurts them or touches them or—

“Cas? Yeah, it’s Dean, just seriously, man, something’s wrong with Sam. No, no, nothing like that, he’s just not with it…yeah he’s awake you idiot. I dunno, he’s just rocking himself on the bed and he keeps telling me not to hurt him and that ‘Madison’s’ a good person. Yeah, he was screaming in his sleep so I came in and he was thrashing around, he looked like he was having a goddamn fit, like convulsing, ya know? Right. Just tell me what to do, Cas, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, he’s not fucking _listening_ , something’s seriously wrong…Hey, screw you, I am calm. Just do something, will ya?...Yeah. Okay, yeah I can do that. What if it doesn’t work? Dude, I’ve _tried_ talking to him – Talk to him in the water, okay. Great. Sure, I’ll call you back. Thanks Cas.”

—because alpha dad’s always drunk when he gets back from bowling and he always hurt omega mommy and he always pulls Sam up onto his knees and…

“Up ya come, Sam, come on,” and Sam’s against another body but this one doesn’t smell of whiskey and cigarette’s, this one smells like Dean…but Dean’s angry and he’s taking Sam into the bathroom so he can bleed him out in the bathtub and it won’t leave a stain anywhere on his carpet, which makes a lot of sense but Sam just wishes it had happened sooner.

“Please do it quickly, Dean, kill me, please kill me quickly, Dean, I can’t do it anymore it hurts so bad please don’t hurt me anymore like _he_ did, don’t hurt Madison…”

“Hey, it’s okay, buddy,” Dean says, dropping Sam into the bathtub. “You’re gonna be okay, Sam, I promise, kiddo, you’re okay…”

And when a fucking bucket of ice water drops itself right on top of Sam’s head he yelps so loud Dean actually flinches. “ _Fuck!_ ” he hisses.

The freezing water keeps coming and Sam tries to flinch out from under it, but there’s a hand pushing insistently against his chest keeping him in the spray…That’s how he’ll do it. Drown him.

“No, _shit_ dude, come on, Sam, come back to me buddy, _please_.”

And then Sam’s blinking and there’s Dean. He can smell Dean, and Dean’s not angry. No, Dean smells fucking _terrified_ and those gigantic green eyes are even wider with worry and those perfect lips are parted as he pants out his breath eyeing up Sam…oh, _shit_. Well, this is embarrassing.

“Dean?” Sam says tentatively, mostly just so Dean knows he’s not a loony anymore.

Dean’s face relaxes and his eyes drift to the ceiling, his lips lifting in a relieved smile. “Oh, thank fuck.” He looks back down. “You okay? Please tell me you’re back to normal.”

“I’m…” Sam looks down at his trembling hands. “I’m back to normal, I guess.” He nods just to make it truer.

“Great. Fuck, I’m so happy, holy crap, you scared the shit outta me, man.” He reaches up above Sam’s head and fiddles with the shower controls, allowing the water dropping onto the back of Sam’s neck to come out warmer.

“Sorry,” Sam mutters because that was possibly the most embarrassing thing he’s ever done. And no, _no_ he’s totally one hundred percent _not_ crying, it’s just left over from his freak out and his face is _not_ contorting in a sob, he’s perfectly in control. “I’m sorry,” and okay fine, _that_ was a sob. Shit.

“Sam? Aw, no Sam, don’t cry, sweetheart, you’re okay,” Dean says, and then there’s a whole lot of Dean climbing into the tub and Sam would scurry the hell away but he smells nice and his hands are soft; so when he settles down at Sam’s back, positioning them both under the spray, Sam turns round and nuzzles his nose into his sodden tee-shirt. And then resumes his crying. “Hush, Sammy,” Sam sobs louder at the name, “It’s okay, baby, come on now, I’ve got you, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

“I can’t do it,” he wails, clinging onto Dean with all he’s worth, drawing his knees up until he’s just curled up on the alpha’s lap. _Weak_.

“Can’t do what, Sam?” Dean asks kindly, stroking the damp strands from Sam’s forehead.

“Everything. I can’t go,” - he hiccups - “ _back_. Please don’t let me go back.”

“Never,” Dean says, his hands pausing. “You are _never_ going back. I don’t know where you were, Sam, but I swear to whoever the fuck is up there, you will never go back there. I promise you right now.”

And Sam wants to believe him. He really does, but too many people have made similar promises, people he’s known for years, and Dean’s only been around for a few days. He doesn’t trust the guy, yet he’s curled up in his arms; _right, because that makes perfect sense_.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” he mumbles into Sam’s hair.

And, god only knows why, Sam actually tells him.

“He electrocuted me,” he mumbles, shuffling in closer. “He put a rod in my ass and fired volts through it. It hurt.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean says, and _now_ he smells angry. Sam instinctively recoils but Dean just hauls him back, “No, no, Sam, I’m not mad at you, baby, I’m not angry at you. Everything’s okay, you’re safe now, you’ll never see him again. Come on back, kiddo, you’re okay…Is that what you meant? When you were asking me not to hurt you, was it ‘cause you though I was angry with you?”

“You were angry…”

“Aw, no, Sammy, I wasn’t angry at you, shit. Is that what all _this_ is about? Because you though I was angry with you?”

Sam squirms on Dean’s soaked thighs. “You _were_ angry.”

“Fuck, dude, I wasn’t angry at _you_. I swear to god, I was just a jealous little bitch but I’m over that now, completely. Dammit, I’m sorry you thought that.”

“Jealous? Because of…why were you jealous?”

Dean just sighs and his nose runs along the back of Sam’s neck, scenting him. Sam just lets it happen because it feels nice. “I don’t wanna lie to you, Sam…And there’s no way in hell I’m _ever_ acting on it but…yeah, I guess I kinda like you. And you were closer to Gabriel than me so I threw a tantrum like an eight year old girl and scared the shit outta you. I’m really fucking sorry, dude.”

“I don’t like Gabriel. He’s a beta.”

Sam can feel Dean’s smile on his neck. “What, you don’t like betas?”

Sam shrugs. “Not in that way, I guess.”

“Heh. Yeah, me neither.”

They stay there for a few more minutes, just curled up tightly in each other’s arms, all the way up until Sam’s tears dry and he starts shivering from his drenched clothes, so Dean says,

“Come on, let’s get you dry. Don’t wanna get sick, huh?” And Dean hauls them both up, both twice as heavy as they used to be, and he sits Sam down on the edge of the bathtub, removes his own clothes with Sam’s eyes securely averted, and trudges out of the room, only to come back moments later with towels and two new sets of bedclothes. “I can’t believe we didn’t buy you any pyjamas,” he says, handing Sam a towel.

Sam just shrugs and begins stripping _so_ slowly, his eyes always on the back of Dean’s head where he faces the door just so he doesn’t peek. Sam’s dressed and dry before Dean even turns round, and when he does he grins and leads them both out of the bathroom, back into Sam’s bedroom.

The sheets have all been dragged clean from the mattress and they just lay in messy tangles near the foot of the bed. Sam gulps and steps closer to Dean because somehow the dumb thing carries the memories.

“You good?” Dean asks, putting his arm on Sam’s shoulder. Sam nods begrudgingly. “Maybe it’d be better if you crashed in my room tonight?” Sam eyes him and he holds his unoccupied hand up in surrender. “Completely innocent, I swear to God. I’ll sleep on the floor, you have my bed. Honestly, Sam, I don’t want you alone right now and I can’t be bothered to remake the bed, so…Whatever you say. Nothing’s gonna happen, I swear. I _promise_.”

And Sam nods because Dean still feels nice beside him and he doesn’t want to lose that scent anytime soon, so they both go to Dean’s room.

It’s funny, a few hours ago Sam was all but fitting because this alpha was angry with him and now he’s willingly sleeping in the same bed. _Nice work at staying out, jackass._

 

When Sam wakes up in the morning, the bed’s empty. And, if he’s being perfectly honest, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt more relieved in his life. Because remembering last night in every gory detail; the chair, the rod, the threats, the soothing, the crying, is excruciatingly embarrassing, but _Dean_ remembering last night...well that’s just off the charts humiliating. Because if Sam hadn’t proved it already, then snuggling into the dude’s lap _screamed_ pathetic-little-bitch omega. Fucking awesome, _what the hell happened to not being the weak one again, huh, Sam?_

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” comes that wicked voice and Sam jolts his head over to the doorway to observe a freshly groomed and dressed Dean. He’s grinning and Sam wants to die. So Sam doesn’t reply. “Listen, I’m headed out to the store again for a quick run, you wanna come with?”

Sam shakes his head and draws up his knees.

“Yeah, s'what I thought. I won’t be long, though, then I’ll come back and make us some lunch, okay?” Sam nods again and Dean ducks back out. And ducks back in again. “Oh, yeah, Cas is coming over later, if that’s cool? He just wants to check you’re doing okay, is all.”

 _He wants to make sure you’re not stark-raving mad around his friend._ “That’s fine, Dean.”

And then Dean leaves for real and Sam listens to him bustling around in the living room for a few seconds before opening and closing the front door with a rustle of his keys. So Sam’s locked in. Awesome.

He should probably try for some more sleep, but he doesn’t like the idea of that after the last time so he just props himself up in Dean’s bed and thinks. He thinks that he’s a complete idiot for one; who the hell just trusts an alpha like _that_ after, what, two days? And who sleeps with him and plays little spoon with him after he just got angry for Sam standing near a beta? Dumb little Sammy, that’s who. Always so freaking eager to play good boy, that’s what it is. He played good boy for his dad and that got his mom murdered, he played good boy for the boys in the foster homes and that lost him his virginity, he played good boy for Madison and that nearly got her killed, and he played good boy for Azazel and we all know how that turned out. Sam should just stop trying anymore because it all always just turns to complete and utter shit. And he hurts people because of it.

 _But Dean’s nice_ , his brain supplies. Yeah, so was Mr Roman and look how that turned out. Trusting anyone no matter how they seem is irrational and stupid and it only ever hurts in the long run.

Sam spends another thirty minutes or so wallowing in self-pity before he hears the knock at the front door. And it’s not the polite knock of a delivery person or door-to-door salesman, it’s the heavy rap of someone who _really_ wants to get inside. Sam freezes but then it comes again and again so he leaps out of the bed like an Olympian and darts for Dean’s bathroom. He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he’s in the bathtub with his knees to his chest and his hands over his head in under a second.

“Dean!” Someone calls, bordered by another heavy round of knocks. “Open the fucking door, man, Jesus!”

Sam rocks back and forth, back and forth…

“Seriously, man I’m gonna bust this goddamn door down if you don’t let me in to pee, dude, come on! I know you’re in there!”

They know he’s in there and they’re gonna take Sam back and they’re gonna hurt Dean and kill Maddie… Sam hears scratching at the lock and the front door slams against the wall as it swings open.

“Fucking idiot…” the intruder mutters and then he’s narrowing in and he’s getting closer and Sam can’t breathe and Dean…

“What the fuck, Adam?”

 _Dean_.

“Dean? Don’t _what the fuck me_ , where the hell were you? Jesus, I need a piss so bad…Hey, what’s your problem?”

And then there’re footsteps charging towards the bedroom and Dean calls out, “Sam?” before they pause and the bathroom door swings open and Dean recoils from Sam’s fear. He recovers quickly because in two seconds flat, his hands are cupping Sam’s cheeks and he’s looking deep into his eyes, so intent, “You okay? Sam, are you okay?”

Sam blinks out of it. “Yeah,” he says, clutching for Dean’s shirt. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m okay.”

“Fucking moron,” Dean says, eyeing over his shoulder at the empty doorway. And then the guy comes in, beta, sandy blonde hair, an awkward stoop in his shoulders, maybe about half a decade older than Sam. He looks seriously confused. “Sam, meet my fucktard half-brother, Adam. Fucktard, meet Sam.”

Adam lifts one hand and his eyes widen slightly. “Hello,” he tries.

Sam ducks his head back. “Hi.”

“I, uh, I’m sorry if I freaked you out, man, I didn’t know anyone else was in here,” he rubs his hand over his other arm and shifts uncomfortably on his feet, gaze flicking from Dean to Sam to the floor and back again.

Sam just nods because he doesn’t want to speak and because he can add this little situation to the ever growing list of embarrassing crap he’s done in the last seventy-two hours. He remembers he’s still sat in a bathtub then, so he moves to lift himself out and Dean’s hands cup his elbows for balance. Sam lands in Dean when he hits the floor and Dean hugs him back like a cooing mother.

Sam seriously needs to start growing some balls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if any of this is super unrealistic, I really don't know very much about PTSD so if I have something that's just too blazingly inaccurate, please let me know! Thanks for reading, guys!!!


	7. Home

They both retreat to the couch once Adam’s finally gone and Sam’s freshly showered. The kid smells monumentally better since last night; that bitter, stale stench of fear that kept Dean up for hours snuggling into it has been replaced by apples and fresh, wonderful scent that Dean would be perfectly ecstatic to shove his nose into. Sadly, when they take their seats on the leather, Dean sits on one end, Sam retreats onto the other. His alpha growls at him, urges him to tug the _omegainneed_ closer and pet him, sooth him - but Dean wouldn’t do that right now. He needs to trust Sam to make his own decisions concerning Dean and pushing the matter’s just gonna freak him out even more. Hell, look what Dean’s fucked up jealousy did to him.

He’s gonna have to apologise to Gabe, isn’t he? Damn, that’ll be a shitty conversation, _‘Hey, Gabe, sorry I freaked out on you last night, I was just being a jealous little alpha bitch, you know how it is; anywho, you know the omega aforementioned jealousy was for? Yeah, well, he had a major freak out episode because of that and I had to shove him in a freezing cold shower just get him back to his mind, so, uh, yeah, I’m sorry, I guess.’_ Uh, huh, awesome idea. Ugh, Dean hates fucking apologies…

“Dean?” the timid voice sounds and Dean looks over at the curled up omega, his eyes wide and shy, as though he’s just spent the last hour or so building himself up to say that.  
Dean happily scoops up the excuse to shove mute at the dumb, whiny chick currently ruining his TV, twisting in his seat to face Sam head on – even if the omega is too far away to touch and stroke and hold and… “Yeah, Sam?”

He shuffles uncomfortably in his seat and the leather screeches with him, his hands clutching harshly into his thighs. He blinks slowly up at Dean and sucks in one giant breath. “I…I, uh.” Another breath. “I – I want…to repay you. For being nice…”

When he halts, as though frozen to the spot, Dean frowns at him, urging on the speech but nothing comes out. Dean smiles. “Hey, you’re doing great, kiddo, keep going…”

But then Sam just sighs, climbing straight off the couch and Dean’s heart all but fucking skips that Sam’s doesn’t want to spend time with him, he doesn’t want to be near him or smell him or – Dean stops every train of thought carving up his head when Sam slinks over to stand in front of him. And when he climbs up to straddle Dean’s thighs, he loses every connection there is to his brain and just gawps up at the perfect creature currently _sat on him_ , currently _sticking his nose into Dean’s throat_. Fuck dammit, holy fucking crap…

“Sam,” he hisses, warning, pushing him off, resting his hands perfectly on those strained thighs… “Sam, come on, kiddo, you don’t-”

But Sam’s not moving – or he is, very much freaking moving, but he’s not moving _off_ , just rocking low into Dean’s hips, sparking up further interest in his suddenly very curious knot…shitshitshit Sam’s gonna know…

“I’ll be good for you Dean, I promise,” he mutters into Dean’s neck, the motion vibrating all the way to Dean’s skull. “Please don’t make me go back, Dean, I’ll be so good for you…”

Fuck. Dean pulls his head back to look into those eyes, his own narrowed. “That’s…that’s what this is about? Sam, I’m not letting you go back there, okay? Nothing in this world could make me give you up, sweetheart, I swear to God. You don’t have to do this, kiddo, come on.”

But Sam doesn’t move, he just blinks down at Dean a few times, holding his eyes like super magnets, forcing Dean’s gaze, keeping him gawping up into rings of brown and green, the odd flicker of gold or blue, the fans of soft eyelashes brushing calmly over pale, suddenly flushed cheeks, perfect shaped…

“Fuck!” Because there’s a fucking _hand_ in Dean’s pants – when the hell did they even open? – and there’s flesh against flesh, Sam’s hand rubbing against the most attentive point of Dean, pulling the blood straight down into it. And Dean’s gonna shove him off, he’s about to uplift Sam from the grip on his thighs, but then Sam’s perfect pillow lips meet his own and his hands just trail up to those slender hips and hold on there, gripping softly beneath the grey tee, slipping down into his jeans, pushing at those warm globes of perfect flesh –

But it’s too skinny and this isn’t right and Sam’s not in the right place in his mind, he doesn’t know what he’s doing and Dean’s pulling off those lips, panting up at Sam’s weirdly calm gaze, “Sam,” Dean _tries_ , but his hands don’t move away, _Sam’s_ hands don’t stop their motions along his dick, stroking along the seriously-starting-to-form knot. “Sam, don’t do this, baby,” _probably not the best name to use_ , “you don’t have to do this…” He sounds completely wrecked and even _he_ doesn’t believe him.

Sam nuzzles against him again, tilts his head back into Dean’s neck and runs his mouth along there, leaving a cool dampness Dean instinctively bows into. Chest against chest when Sam arches forward, Dean clutches tighter at Sam’s backside, delves his hand in deeper and hisses out a moan when the hand resumes its movements between his legs. Fuck, he’s really fucking hard and did it always feel this good? He’s been given hand jobs in the backs of bars for the last ten or so years, it’s not some revelation and he’s gone a lot further than this without so much as popping a knot, but Sam…Sam’s in a different ballpark. Sam’s perfect.

“Kiss me, alpha,” he mutters, drawing his head back, offering Dean those lips and fuck everything to fucking hell, Dean actually releases one of his hands from the kid’s ass and grips around the back of his head, tugs him in closer and meshes their lips together perfectly, fitting them as one entity, perfect and hot as all freaking hell.

Sam’s a really good kisser, but what did Dean expect? He’s spent the last however many years of his life as a forced prostitute and the cop side of Dean’s brain screams at him to get off, stop touching the _child_ but Dean’s alpha’s taken over now and he’s simply kissing his omega. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to…

Sam dips his tongue in first, strokes it along Dean’s bottom lip, presses their mouths and body’s closer, pulls them in together and Dean does _not_ moan, he doesn’t moan whatsoever…

The hands are moving still, the knot’s there, and when one moves off, Dean nearly keens, nearly grabs it and puts it back right where it should be, but then it trails lower, back and up until it’s running along Dean’s arm, moving to rest with Dean’s own hand at Sam’s own ass and fuck if that doesn’t make Dean’s dick throb harder.

“Fuck, Sam,” he hisses, rutting further and deeper, pushing his hand lower to Sam’s cleft, dipping in lightly between the cheeks and fuck the fucking lord, he’s slick. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s slick and he’s moaning, rubbing and that hand leaves Dean again, unbuttons his own jeans and tugs them down as far as they’ll go, giving Dean better access to his ass before he travels back to help out again. He pushes Dean deeper inside his pants. They huff out in unison.

“I’ll make it good, alpha,” Sam sighs when he pulls off to breath, pressing tiny, perfect kisses along Dean’s jawline, nuzzling towards his ear again. Dean tilts his own head to Sam’s hair, inhales _omegaslickhorny_ and bucks up into Sam’s perfect little fingers, Sam pushes Dean lower, bows into Dean’s chest.

Shit, Dean’s gonna come, isn’t he? _Not fucking yet_ , his alpha yells, _take care of your omega_.

So Dean lifts both his hands off and away, storing away Sam’s whine for later use, carefully places his hands to Sam’s hips and pulls him up until he’s standing on the couch, panting down at Dean.

“Jeans. Off,” Dean says, already tugging them down. Sam blinks a few times, frowns, looks down at himself, at Dean as if he’s just realised what they’re doing - he looks down at Dean’s hand stroking along his thigh though and whimpers, moving to help Dean discard the offensive clothing, lifting one foot out of both his boxers and jeans before simply dropping back to Dean’s lap, slamming their faces back together, shoving his hand back in Dean’s own pants, dragging Dean’s hand to his newly exposed ass and fucking howls. Jesus Christ, he’s gonna kill him, isn’t he? A sixteen year old kid ( _you piece of shit_ ) is gonna kill him with his beautiful body, all lithe and perfect and so fucking beautiful.

“You’re so beautiful, Sammy, so fucking beautiful, baby-boy,” he pants into Sam’s throat when they split, mouthing down his neck until he’s obscured by the stupid tee shirt he bought him – he should never wear clothes, he should just always be naked on Dean’s bed… He lifts Sam’s arms up and watches his face like a hawk as he peels the fabric up and off. So much skin, pale, marred, still bruised, perfect skin, Dean licks a stripe over a collarbone, feels a scar beneath his tongue but he doesn’t care, it’s a part of Sam, it’s fine, everything’s fine, he has his omega.

“Feels good, Dean, _so_ good, alpha,” Sam pants, tilting his hips back for Dean’s fingers and he dips them inside, aiming for that perfect, soaked up hole and stroking along it a few times before plunging two fingers in. Sam fucking wails and it’s so good, so fucking good, he doesn’t know what to do with it all.

“Fuck, baby boy, come on, Sam, come on,” he says, dipping the fingers in and in time with the rocks, in time with Sam’s hand on him.

The omega starts making these little noises, quiet and hushed but like fucking porn, so beautiful, rhythmic, his face flushed and angled away, his bottom lip pulled into his mouth. Dean leans in and runs his tongue over it, urging it out so they can kiss again. Sam looks down at him and gasps, drilling his ass back to Dean’s fingers, riding his hand, keeps Dean running over that one spot…oh. Dean hadn’t even been looking for it, but he pounds at it now anyway, three fingers all aiming for that one perfect inch inside of his omega until he keens like a pup and stills, his mouth agar, his eyes clenched shut.

Dean nearly comes too simply _watching_ his omega judder from the aftershocks, from the peels of creamy liquid landing on his stomach, on Dean’s shirt. He recovers quickly, dips to Dean’s neck, jacks his hand a few times, mewling like a kitten into Dean’s skin and yes, so fucking close, fuckfuckfuck –

When the knock at the door sounds, they both freeze.

“Dean?”

 _Cas_. Fuck, he forgot about Cas coming over, really? Fucking smooth Dean, you moron – and then the door handle’s moving and Dean didn’t lock it after kicking Adam out, did he? Shit, shit, shit. He all but shoves Sam off of him, keeping his hands as a balance on his back, but Sam darts straight out when the door starts opening, falls back, lands heavily on the coffee table, lays there for a second, winded, jolts up with a wince…but by then, Cas is already in the room, still holding onto the door knob, his eyes wide at the scene, his mouth open.

Sam freezes like a deer in headlights, frozen naked on the coffee table before Dean, laid out like a lamb to the slaughter, covered in his own slick and come, exhuming fucking _terror_.

But then he stumbles up when Cas steps forward, “Sam?” not bothering with clothes, and bolts like a startled cat from the room, straight to his bedroom and slamming the door.  
There’s bitter silence in his wake.

Dean stands quickly, turns away from his friend and tucks himself back into his jeans, buttoning himself back up. He notices the splatter of still wet come on his shirt and he tugs that off, too, balls it up and throws it down to Sam’s discarded nest of clothes.

He turns slowly to the furious scent brewing in the middle of his apartment, the alpha scent he suddenly feels seriously threatened by…what the hell is going on in his head?

“I should have told you earlier,” Cas growls and that’s not really what Dean was expecting.

He frowns at his friend. “What are y-”

“It was stupid of me, thinking you could control yourself, how _foolish_ ,” he scoffs, stepping closer, threateningly, ominously, Dean takes one back.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s not even been a _week_ yet, Dean, and you’ve already fucked him? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cas is swearing. He’s really pissed, that’s not good.

“I…” He doesn’t have a good excuse, is what he doesn’t have. He just shuffles on his feet and stares down at them like a toddler, mumbling some bullshit or another. “He came on to me.”

Right, blame the sixteen year old, abused, raped omega. How very fucking noble, Dean.

“You’ve gone down _far_ in my estimations, Dean. Have you not seen the scars, or was it in your better interest to ignore them? And last night, has that escaped your mind? Or did you decide you were better off _forgetting_ the fact that the child you just fucked has been molested for god-knows how many fucking years?” He’s shouting. Castiel Novak is swearing and shouting and exuding _ALPHA_ and fuck it’s not nice being on the recieving end of it.

Dean actually backs down, reveals his neck, still sensitive from Sam’s attentions.

“You’ll freak him out,” Dean tries, motioning towards the door, hoping it’ll calm him down. It doesn’t.

He scoffs. “ _I’ll_ freak him out?” He moves in closer and hisses, “I’m not the one that just _raped_ him.”

Dean backtracks. “Hey, I did not rape him, fuck you. He was willing the whole goddamn time, he was slick all by himself, Cas, _screw_ you.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “And I thought you were a police officer. Do you not know the laws of rape, Dean? Do you really think he’s in his right mind; away from his home, his family, what he’s used to – he just had a PTSD flashback and he’s living with a strange alpha who gets jealous every time he _speaks_ to another human being? Not to mention, he’s _underage_.”

Dean ducks his head again. “Fuck,” he mutters.

“Yes, _‘fuck’_ exactly, Dean.”

Dean runs a hand over the back of his head, along his neck, over his hair, down his face. What the fuck is wrong with him?

“What,” he coughs, “what were you going to tell me?”

Castiel shakes his head and laughs, bitterly. “Sam’s pregnant.”

 _Get the fuck outta here_ … “No fucking way.”

“Yes. I wanted to tell you both to your faces, but I didn’t expect to come in to find him naked on top of you, so…”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Dean has to sit down. “You sure?”

Cas sits down on the opposite end, on the couches arm, glaring over. “Positive.”

“Fuck.”

“Quite.”

“How far along?” Dean says into his hands.

“I’d estimate about nine to ten weeks, give or take.”

“No way,” Dean laughs an almost hysterical laugh, because this isn’t fucking happening, not now, not after this… “We’d have smelt him by now, surely? And where the fuck’s the bump, huh?”

Castiel rolls his eyes like it’s such a hardship talking to such an imbecile. “People develop at different stages Dean, the scent and the bump come with it at different times.”

“We need to tell him.” Dean gets up, aiming for the bedroom door, but a strong hand halts him harshly in the chest and he has to stop. He glares down at Cas.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea right now?”

“He needs to know.”

“I have no doubt. But I don’t think you should be the one to do it, do you?”

“He trusts me…” Dean starts, stopping halfway through because he knows exactly what Cas’ retort to that’s gonna be, so he just eyes the other alpha instead, shoving his hand off his chest, growling. “So, what, you’re gonna do it? No offence, dude, but I think he’s officially terrified of you right now.”

Castiel frowns slightly, pondering, before looking back up to Dean with what he can only describe as a spiteful smirk. “Gabriel’s on his way home from work right now. I told him not to come over here to give you two some more time to work things out, but considering how well that went…” Dean growls. “I’ll call him.”

 _Joy_. Fucking joy, the _beta’s_ coming back. He’s gonna fucking kill Dean. Hell, _Dean’s_ gonna kill Dean; he just molested an underage, pregnant omega with a recent past of sexual abuse and PTSD. Oh, he’s gonna be sick…

“You’re invited again,” Castiel says into the phone. “Because Dean fucked him, that’s why. That’s not an excuse, Gabriel, you know that. Because someone needs to tell Sam…Good. I’ll see you in ten, then.”

“Did you _have_ to tell him?” Dean growls.

“He’ll step one foot in here and smell it, Dean, don’t worry.” He sits back down on the couch and sighs. “I think he should come and stay with us. I don’t trust you with him anymore.”

“He’s not a pet, you don’t get to decide where he lives or whether I’m capable of looking after him.”

“And you do get to decide?”

“I found him.”

“Finders keepers, of course, I apologise, what a wonderful way to decide the fate of an abused child, congratulations.” Cas throws his hands up into the air, worries one over his face, paces into the kitchen and leans his fists down on the table.

“Cas…” Dean sighs, toeing over himself. He just leans against the countertop a good few metres away, mostly out of range of any major scenting, but he’s pretty sure he still reeks of slick and pre-come and arousal…embarrassment. “Fuck – honestly man, I don’t even know what came over me. Everything was great last night, I did what you said, I mean he was freaked out like no tomorrow, but he wasn’t crazy anymore, you know? He slept in my bed, he was fine and then Adam paid us a visit this morning…” Dean knows his face darkens. “He freaked out again, went back into the bathtub…”

Castiel shakes his head and sighs. “Surprisingly enough, that’s actually a good thing. He’s associating something in your home with safety and security, just so happens to be a bathtub, I guess. It should be you, but I guess you fucked that up, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean it. I was stopping him, I was pushing him off but I just – he was _my omega_ for a second and nothing else mattered. I needed to take care of him, give him what he needed and I thought - I _believed_ \- he needed…that. Fuck, I’m so fucking stupid.”

“The pregnancy’s made it worse, Dean. Don’t get me wrong, you just proved to him you’re the exact clone of every other alpha he’s had to deal with, but it’s not _entirely_ your fault.” It’s nice that he says it, but he says it begrudgingly. He sighs again and stands up straight, turning to lean back on the polished oak top. “Both of your bodies were against you at this stage, I’m afraid to say. Sam’s pregnancy hormones are playing havoc in his mind, add PTSD on top of that and you’ve got yourself one messed up omega. Let alone the drugs, the physical abuse, the trauma –”

“They tortured him,” Dean says, remembering suddenly. “He told me last night when we were in the tub, they fucking _shoved_ something up his ass and ran _shots_ through it. I mean what the fuck, right?”

“Wait,” Cas says, stepping forward again, holding up a hand. “You got in the bathtub with him?”

Dean just blinks. “Yeah. Why, ‘s’I not supposed to?”

“No, it’s…that’s why he got back in the tub, when Adam came round,” Cas nods, eyes squinting as though he’s just made the biggest breakthrough since sliced freaking bread. “He’s associating that with the safety you made him feel… Huh, what d’you know?”

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, no way, the kid was still ten kinds of messed up this morning, _especially_ around me, even when Adam left. There’s no way he feels that safe.”

“That’s because he doesn’t want to feel safe.” Dean frowns. “Think about it, you were raped and abused for years of your life and suddenly you’ve got this man who’s willing to take care of you, making you eat real meals – are you going to want to willingly trust him, trust _anyone_ , despite your body telling you to?”

Dean thinks about it and damn the alpha, that makes sense. “You gotta point, actually. Fuck. I messed him up, didn’t I?”

“His bodies telling him to let you in – he has a pup, he wants an alpha to protect them both, you’re kind but he can’t trust. Honestly, I think he’s just really confused and embarrassed right now.”

Dean nods and then shakes his head, breathing out a sigh. “I need to talk to him. He needs to _know_ , for starters.”

For a tense second, he’s pretty sure Cas is just about to scoff, tell him he’s never to speak to the omega again, never to see him or touch him – but then Cas sighs with The Eye piercing into Dean as a sharp warning, “Let Gabriel calm him down first. Then we’ll all sit down, discuss this together. And, Dean?”

Dean nods his head up.

“I understand. Why you did it. I mean, I don’t condone it, but I get it. Your body - you believe he’s yours, you wanted to make sure he has everything he needs. And I get why you did it. But Dean? I swear to God, you touch him again and I’ll take him off you. Do you understand me?”

Dean gulps. Dean nods. Dean shrinks back into himself because this Cas, this terrifying, all truth Cas, is not playing around; that threat was a real one and Dean’s taking heed.

“You rang?”

Both alphas turn to the beta suddenly at the doorway, shutting the thing behind him, waltzing straight into the room, shit eating grin lighting up his face. Dean rolls his eyes when Gabriel claps a hand to his shoulder and leans back beside him.

“So, Dean-o, finally gave in to your alpha instincts, huh? Hey, you’ve been fighting them all these years, makes sense to lose your shit over one little omega, right?”

Dean fucking growls because now is not the _fucking_ time to be messing around with him, to be _joking_ about Sam like none of this matters; this is a boy’s _life_ , one that Dean’s fucking up, _ruining_ …fucking idiot.

“Gabriel,” Cas warns and his dumbass brother just shrugs, points with both thumbs towards Sam’s door for confirmation and winks before saluting away. Dean watches him go with a sad scowl. “It’s for the best, Dean.”

“Uh,” Gabriel calls a second later, “I think we got a problem! Where is he?”

Dean looks sharply to Cas who just looks back with _‘Don’t be an idiot Dean’_ eyes, so Dean flops into himself and sighs. “Try the bathtub,” he calls back.

“Got it!” Pause. “Found him!”

And Dean can’t help his dumb sigh of relief.

 

It’s just over an hour before he smells Sam’s scent again (he’s been eyeing the clock like a hawk) and both him and Cas leap up from their assigned seats at the kitchen table to greet their terrified guest. Dean’s moved the pile of clothes, he’s sprayed fruity smelling crap in bucket loads around the room, he’s practically cleaned every inch of his living room because he doesn’t want Sam to be scared. But when he rounds the corner, all but covered in Gabriel’s shadow but not touching, he fucking reeks of the shit. Dean closes his eyes briefly and sits back down.

“Good afternoon, Sam,” Castiel greets as the pair settles opposite them, Sam’s head so far down into his chest it’s impossible to see any skin on top of his navy tee shirt, just piles of scraggy clean hair. Dean notes gratefully that he dressed; Dean changed his clothes too. They probably don’t need reminding. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you, Sam, that wasn’t my intention. Are you alright?”

Sam just ignores his words, just shuffles lower into his seat, away from everyone, just punches Dean straight in the chest – _it’s the hormones, dickwad, get a grip_.

Cas coughs. “Right. Look, Sam, I wouldn’t make you do this if there wasn’t something important we all needed to discuss.” Hazel eyes blink up for short seconds before darting back to the table top. Blue eyes flit to Dean. “Sam…I just want you to know that you’re far from alone in this, okay? Every single one of us is here for you, I want to be sure of that, we will _all_ be by your side.”

Sam seems to forget himself then because he’s looking up, wide suspicious eyes darting from alpha to beta to alpha, narrowing the further on he gets. “What…what’s going on?” he whispers.

Cas closes his eyes, opens them, worries at his lip, takes in a gigantic breath. “You have choices-”

“What’s happening?” Sam says, his voice rapid and rough, his breath turning harsh. Fear echoes deeper into the room.

“You’re pregnant.”

And then everything’s still. Sam stares for a few, mile-long seconds; he blinks a couple of times, he sits back in his chair from where he’d darted forward in a panic, he closes his agape mouth and he sucks up a jagged breath. And he leaps from his chair, shoves the red iron furniture back onto itself and every single person in the room is up then, Gabriel moving forward before Sam can run back to his room, but then Sam’s moving the other way, deeper into the kitchen, to the sink. When he heaves up his food, no one moves. Dean just lowers his eyes.

“That’s good kiddo, that’s good, get it all up,” Gabriel says, suddenly at Sam’s side, running a soothing hand over his back, between his shoulder blades. “You’re doing good, kid, so good, there you go.”

“I don’t…” Sam tries, but then he’s gagging again, throwing up deeper into the basin. “Don’t…want it.”

Dean sighs. It’s gonna be a long ass night at work, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, for now I'm really not seeing this updated so apologies if you're still into it. Maybe a little later I'll get back into the groove of writing but right now I'm focusing on different projects..


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